


The Knowing

by OsirisGalaxy



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Origin Story, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisGalaxy/pseuds/OsirisGalaxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dawn was breaking across the plateaus. Dusty purple and the lightest sliver of white-gold sunlight washed over the sand, making each grain distinct in their trillions. A rare breeze blew from the north, stiff and clear but never cold, and Toast was waking up." An origin story for Toast the Knowing, from wanderer to wife to freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stolen

Dawn was breaking across the plateaus. Dusty purple and the lightest sliver of white-gold sunlight washed over the sand, making each grain distinct in their trillions. A rare breeze blew from the north, stiff and clear but never cold, and Toast was waking up.

The dune they had camped behind had been blown half its size in the night, but where she would normally rush to pack her things and alert her fellows, there was no impulse to do so. There were never any patrols out this early anyway, and these minutes were the precious few she had to simply breathe. She grinned beneath her blanket before throwing it off onto the sleeping form next to her, who only paused in his rhythmic snoring for a second before resuming with vigor. She tied her boots on and carefully tucked a pistol into her belt before heading out of the tent, squinting her eyes in the newfound sun. With the awareness of an animal out in the open she scanned her surroundings. Desert, still and pale, as normal in the dawnlight. The tension in her shoulders released somewhat as she scaled what was left of their cover, all seven feet of it. “The tent won’t be obvious, but we shouldn’t push our luck for more than an hour”, she told herself under her breath as she eased herself cross-legged on the crown of the dune. That calm purple was lightening by the minute it seemed, and Toast inhaled what was left of it deeply, closing her eyes. Clean, and maybe if she concentrated enough she could even fool herself into thinking it was cold. But on the exhale the desert sighed into reality, the air warming itself on the ever growing sun in the east. When she opened her eyes the sky was a tired lavender that was quickly turning over its blue side, and she waited for a singular pathetic cloud to drift into view before standing up. 

“Toast.” The voice below said barely above a normal speaking tone. It was too early, too peaceful for shouting. Toast turned her gaze downward where Swimm was waiting, a small smile on his face. “You know you shouldn’t wander off.” She smiled back at him before taking her first step down the dune, half sliding until she was on solid ground.

“I don’t think that-” She jabbed a thumb at the outcropping she had been perched on. “Counts as wandering. It’s our backyard.”

“You could say that about the whole wasteland, little sister.” A pet name that hardly rang true, Toast was neither Swimm’s sister, nor younger than him. Not by anything but a few meager months at least, but it was a custom of their tribe. Everyone was as close as siblings, so the names stuck. She nudged him in the ribs for it and he laughed under his breath as she strode back to the tent, donning the rest of her attire as the others awoke. Dawn didn’t peel back skin, but high noon certainly would, and she slipped into a faded green shawl to protect her shoulders, as the linen she wrapped around her chest and stomach for a shirt didn't have quite enough to make more than straps to keep it from falling down. She made a note to herself to try and obtain some extra pieces she could sew on from the others, perhaps with a bargain of the useless but shiny studs on the back pockets of her denim pants. She liked the adornment, it decorated without glittering in the sun, but they could be sacrificed for practicality. These thoughts of planning that usually occupied her days were interrupted by little Lem tugging on the loose end of her belt and asking in his seven year old voice where breakfast was.

“No one’s even cookin’ yet, you have to wait.”

“But…” He wasn’t one to pout, but he was one to stare at the ground when disappointed, his tight curls that almost resembled her own falling into his sleepy brown eyes. Toast felt a pang of guilt for making that sweet dark face long with her bluntness, and she crouched to his level.

“I got a secret.”

His head jerked up immediately at that. “A secret?”

“Yeah. You can’t tell though.”

“I won’t!”

“Shhh.”

“I won’t.”

She took his hand and led him back into the tent where her pack was. Everything inside was practical: water, scarf, sandstorm goggles, emergency food, road flares, another pistol, ammunition, but in one pocket was something more rare. Lem’s eyes widened to saucers when he saw what she spilled into her hand from the little bag she stored them in.

“What are those? They smell good.”

“These are dried fruits.” Toast explained. “Got these off the last pale man I fought. His pockets were full a’ bolts and bullets, but these were the best part of the haul. I don’t think even he was supposed to have these.” She said this was a mischievous smile that Lem shared. “I think these were made from a berry. You know, like how Sou talks about, before the oil wars? They got them somehow, whatever they are. Here.” She placed half in Lem’s waiting hands, and the beaming grin she got in return was worth losing half of her luxury. He tried to speak, couldn’t, and just kissed her on the cheek before dashing off to enjoy his treat away from the snatching hands of the other two children. Toast watched him go, wiping the split he accidentally left on her cheek before tucking the rest of the berries into her bag and going back out. 

Everyone was outside now and throwing the small animals they found burrowed in the sand into a pot. Beetles and centipedes mostly, with a few lizards and even one mouse, and the rest was filled with stale bread and stirred into a stew. “Need to go on a run soon.” Greye said, running a hand over his fading hair that earned him the name, that and being the oldest person there after Sou. 

“We’ll restock today.” Swimm reassured as he handed out bowls of the thin meal. His skin was almost as dark as night, and the soup looked like milk when it dripped from the spoon onto his arm. “It’s the third sun, the Buzzards always come through the dunes from the east today to intercept pale suppliers. We’ll meet them after they get there, and we’ll be gone before their big friends tag along.” The group ate solemnly, all fifteen glancing at one another, pretending to wonder who would go fight. Lem emerged from behind the tent with sticky hands and mouth and got his share, innocent to the strategy that was just discussed. However, Toast wasn’t envious of his ignorance like some might have been. She was already going over what bullets she had stored in her pack and which guns they were made for; how long it would take to reload and how close an enemy had to be before she had to resort to her hands. Thankfully, that knowledge of up-close combat never had to be put to use. She had to wonder why they risked staying in the badlands at all when the Buzzards they often stole from had no remorse, no reason to even entertain the idea of keeping them alive. At least pale men had a purpose, no matter how strange that purpose they alluded to but never explained beyond shouting “Witness!” seemed. Buzzards simply saw food whenever they looked at anything that moved. But they were also the most careless. Pale men fought to the death and killed as many as they could along the way, Buzzards just slung their weapons and hoped they hit something. It was dangerous, but profitable. She had to give credit to Swimm and his tactical mind. He may have been named after a lost frivolity of the past but he was firmly rooted in the future of the tribe, and still somehow managed to be light and gracious. He and Toast paired well together in that way. She knew what to do right then and there, and he looked outwards. Little Sister and Big Brother, leading the way to life, at least that’s how Toast saw it when she was allowed a moment of wandering thought. 

She was already finished when Bask and Chell approached her. Chell sat at her side and Bask sat in front of her, resting her head in Toast’s lap. “Full?” She asked, and Toast nodded despite it not being true. “Good. Can you braid my hair? I don’t want it flying everywhere when we go out today, and Chell’s no good at it.”

“Untrue.” Chell said, nudging her with his foot. “I’m just rusty. These are less maintenance.” He tugged on a long dreadlock that was hanging in front of his face. 

“They look like snakes.”

“Thank you sister.” He snickered to himself and she shoved his foot. 

Toast shook her head and separated Bask’s hair into four places. “You two, forever bickering.”

“You’d understand if you were a twin.” Bask said, humming a little as Toast began braiding.

Chell raised a finger to interject. “She could be our twin. Or our triplet, you know.” 

“Mother didn’t have her.”

“Shh. Does it matter?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Toast shrugged. “Greye said I came from a hole in the ground. Just popped up.”

Chell grinned. “Who knows? But we found you. Squalling little baby in a basket on the side of the road.” He made his hands into a cradle. “Kicking anyone who held you except for Sou.”

“I’m misting.” Bask said while wiping a fake tear from her eye.

“You’ll really tear up when I undo these braids. Besides, you two were four. It’s not like you remember much.” Bask reached and held Toast’s leg, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“We remember just enough.” Toast glanced at Bask’s own legs that were stretched out in front of her. Dark like the rest of them and thick with muscle, but also marred by burns up the insides, mainly the calves. Toast remembered the crash well from when she was learning how to drive. Lost control, hit a boulder, and the dirtbike bursted into flames. Toast had been launched from the seat while Bask was still straddling the vehicle. They had been lost for two days, but she never seemed to fault her for it. She almost brought it up again, but just as she opened her mouth Alo ran over.

“Swimm wants you.” She was shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Thirteen was an age of uncertainty, Toast had an affection for her because of it.

“Okay.” Toast paused and Alo turned to go. “Wait.”

The young girl turned back around. “Hm?”

“Do you want your hair braided?”

-

After Bask had four tight braids that hung heavy and out of the way and Alo had several small ones that Chell was finishing up, Toast went to find Swimm. He was by the bikes, all seven of them, and was helping Chell and Bask’s mother strap pieces of the tent to the passenger seats. His eyes lit up when he saw Toast approaching, and she couldn’t help but return it. “You needed me?”

“Yes.” He motioned for her to come over to the bikes. “You’re coming on the raid, right?” 

Toast scoffed. “Of course.”

“Great.” He crouched in the dirt and she did the same. He drew a crude road and a jagged circle. “This is the offroad and the entrance to the sunken city is in this canyon. I’m thinking-” He drew a line down the road with a smaller circle on the end. “When the Buzzards are running home we-” five dashes around the circle. “circle up and close in, shoot the driver, take the bounty, and break back over the hill here. Then meet up with the others who will be a mile north. Seem sound?”

Toast studied the diagram. “We need to send one or two of us in a different direction, so if the Buzzards pursue they won’t know who to follow. Then the second group catches up after maybe an hour. It’ll take longer but we likely won’t be chased.”

“Okay.” Swimm said, seeming to burn her words into his brain. “Thank you.” His formality broke with an affectionate glance. “Excited?”

“I don’t know if excited is the right word.” Toast admitted.

“You don’t like doing this?”  
She shook her head. “Do you?”

He mirrored her action. “No.” 

A sigh. “I enjoy it as much as one can. We need to do it, and it gets the blood pumping, but that’s about all I get from it.”

“What excites you?”

“Security.”

“Then I’ll keep you secure, little sister.”

She nodded, smiling at him, but behind his head she saw the fuzzy outlook of two stone spires. Those were the mountains the pale men always seemed to come from. Did they embed themselves inside like the Rock Riders? Or was it just a landmark, like how the shortest plateau was for her family? “Toast?”

“Yeah?”

“You look far away. It’s not like you.”

“Sorry. I’m just thinking...the pale men must live in those mountains.”

“So what if they do?”

“Yeah.” She repeated, and she looked back at him. “So what if they do.”

-

The sun was high and all of the peace of that morning had dissolved into practicality. There was no time for daydreaming and whimsy, not when they had gone through the last of their bread and there were two canteens of water between them all. Toast was shoulder to shoulder with Swimm, who was tying a bandana around his face while she was locked onto the landscape before them. A long outcropping of rock where the Buzzards would retreat into like ants to a nest, but plenty of other little twists and boulders to hide behind along the way from the main road. There were only five of them, the only ones of age who could withstand battle, while the other ten packed their meager belongings and the young ones onto their bikes and waited about a mile away, behind another dune, standard procedure, same as usual. Toast wondered if Lem knew just how much waiting he would have to endure once he was old enough to join them. Chell, who kept his dreadlocks back in a bun for attacks, was the first to spot the spiked cars of the Buzzards, pointing and being answered with another gesture from Swimm. The gesture was mirrored for confirmation among the group, and when Swimm silently answered again, their engines went off with a crack as each wrist turned expertly on the gas. The Buzzards didn’t even have time to react before five dirtbikes circled the car, and they swore loudly at each other in Russian in their surprise.

It was almost too easy, Toast thought as she loaded the rifle in her hands. She had learned to do such while driving at eleven, and now at eighteen the motions were smoothed out and practiced to perfection. Her first bullet cracked the windshield, and another from Bask shattered the passenger window. By then the element of surprise was no longer on their side, and with another barrage of insults the Buzzards activated the sawblades of the sides of their car. They surged forward at the circle of bikes, turning sharply in an attempt to slice their riders. Toast felt the air the blades displaced, but was missed by a long shot. She almost laughed at the pathetic attempt, had Chell not screamed. Her head snapped to look at him, and to her horror Chell’s shoulder had been pierced not by the blade, but one of the long spikes the Buzzard’s adorned their vehicles with. The Buzzards turned again, wrenching him from his bike that drove into a patch of rocks and flipped onto its side.

“Steady!” Swimm commanded, mainly so Chell wouldn’t panic. Alo aimed at the weakened windshield and fired a round. It broke through the glass, hitting the passenger Buzzard in the collar. He choked as he began to bleed, and he scrambled for a gun. He placed the barrel to the hole Alo had made and fired, hitting Toast’s handlebar but bouncing off into the sand. She swore as the vibrations travelled up her arms, and her bike swerved before she could regain complete control, and she was closer to the Buzzards than she wanted to be. Chell found his footing on the flat of another spike, but struggled to keep himself from sliding into the rest of the sharp points. The uninjured Buzzard cackled and charged toward the outcropping, the force making Chell slip. He screamed again as the spike in his shoulder drove deeper, exiting the flesh, and Toast saw just how sick Alo looked.

“We’re losing them.” Toast said to Swimm, hopefully to distract from the realization that the mission was failing. She could see through the rear windshield that the Buzzard Alo shot was slumped over. 

“Get moving then. Chell comes first, then food.” 

“But-”

“No. Chell first.” Swimm left her with that and sped on. Chell’s screams were echoing now, but Toast did her best to block them out. The other three could handle Chell well enough, four would be gratuitous, her priority was feeding the rest of them. She sped past Bask, who had reloaded her rifle, repositioned in front of the car, and taken aim at the windshield. Three shots and it was shattered, and she almost fired at the driver had Swimm not shouted at her to wait, and she drove beside him. With blazing eyes he drove up beside the car near Chell, who was drenched in blood and near unconscious. “Hold on!” Swimm shouted over the rumbling engine, and all Chell could manage was a weak nod. The living Buzzard yelled at him and fumbled for his passengers gun, but stopped when the drivers window was broken by the butt of Toast’s rifle. “Toast!” Swimm exclaimed. “That’s not-”

“Get Chell!” Toast cut him off.

“That’s not what I ordered!” Swimm was angry now, but rising to stand on his bike that Alo kept steady with a free hand. “Chell is the priority! Our brother!” 

“If we don’t get this Buzzard, then the rest of our brothers and sisters will suffer for it!” Toast hit the driver this time, who for a moment let go of the wheel. The car began to drift towards Swimm, but Toast grabbed the wheel before he could be knocked over. Her arm began to ache as the seconds ticked by from the effort of steering herself and her target, and with a sharp jerk she brought the car veering towards her to the left. Swimm shouted something at her again, something lost over the engine.

Bask caught up to her. “Swimm and Alo can’t get Chell if you keep moving!” But Toast ignored her. The others were waiting for them, for the food in the back of the car, and they couldn’t last more than a day out here without it.

The driver Buzzard recovered and made fast work of unlatching her hand from his wheel, but it wasn’t so easy with the iron grip she had on the thing. Bask made to aim her rifle at him, but the car jerked to the right this time as the Buzzard tried to shake control from Toast. There was another scream, one more high pitched, and Alo’s dirtbike skidded to a halt and fell over, blood covering her whole face from where the cars spikes grazed her, and Bask rushed to her aid. Toast tried not to think about the silence Chell had acquired. The driver finally let go of the wheel and reached into his pocket, and before Toast could react a blade was driven into the back of her hand. She cried out in pain as he drove it all the way through, piercing the leather wheel. Toast clenched her teeth and temporarily let go of her handlebar to try and free her hand, but that last remaining control of both vehicles was gone, and when Toast pulled on the knife, the rest of the wheel went with it. They went left again, but instead of straightening out they kept turning, doing circles and wrenching up sand. “Toast!” Swimm shouted over the sound of shifting earth and panicked Russian. Toast soon realized why he shouted: her bike had been ripped from between her legs as the car sped up, and she was holding onto the spikes in an attempt to keep herself from being impaled. One was poised carefully near her eye, and she felt the barest of snag at her boot as her foot drifted closer and closer to a rusty sawblade. She thought she saw Chell be thrown from the car, landing away as limp as a ragdoll. She narrowed her eyes to protect them from the sand that blocked out everything around them, but didn’t dare close them. The Buzzard ripped the knife from her hand and let the blood flow freely, and Toast’s grip on the wheel was lost as she was torn from the car. She hit the sand once, twice, three times before rolling over herself. When she could see straight she saw blue sky glaring down, but it wasn’t long until a shadow was cast over her. Every muscle swore at her as she quickly brought herself to a crouching position, all she could manage after the impact, and she pulled the pistol from her belt, her rifle lost in the spinning. Before she could so much as aim a boot kicked it from her hand. Only then did she panic and dive for it, but that boot made contact again with her stomach. Toast choked on the air as it was forced out of her, and she gasped to reclaim it. She looked up and saw the glare of white paint, and the pale man scowled at her as he reached down and grabbed a fistful of her curls and held her small frame above the ground. Her scalp burned and she struggled weakly with the little oxygen she had forced back down her lungs. She looked behind him to see a truck with four other pale men drive on past them to the Buzzard, and behind her sounded off the familiar crack of engines as her brothers and sisters sped away from the new enemies.

“Toast!” She tried to turn her head to see Swimm as he called back to her, but the pale man made an animal noise in his throat and wrestled her to the ground. He pressed his shin onto her calves so she couldn’t kick free, and his hands gripped her wrists and forced them behind her back. “Toast! You know what to do!”

The emergency plan. Of course. The Shortest Plateau. Three days. It worked for when Rock Riders stole Lem’s father, and it worked again when they lost she and Bask after their crash. Toast could do it again, she just had to remain calm. “Big brother!” She called back to him in the most reassuring tone she could.

“Little s-” Another pale man kicked her in the temple and she didn’t hear the rest of his reply.


	2. Scrubbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for invasive medical procedures.

When she awoke the sun was setting. The entire world felt like it had tilted on its side, both literally and figuratively from her position in the bed of the truck. She had been piled alongside gallons of fuel that reeked to the heavens and made her head ache even more than the kick had. So there hadn’t been food at all? No. They must’ve traded it all away like they had intended. “What are we going to do…?” She said to herself. Her throat scratched with each word and she would’ve killed all five men for a gulp of water. She felt a scratchy cloth tied around her hand as a bandage, and a tarp had been haphazardly thrown over her, perhaps to protect from sunburn or more likely, to cover up the bright red gallon containers. She tried to sit up, but it proved difficult with the chain that had been wrapped over her arms and around her middle. Another was around her wrists, and one more at her ankles. There was one upside at least: her bag was still strapped to her back, and that certainly had enough supplies for three days if she even took that long. She would face her scolding from Swimm, apologize to Chell and Alo, and then Bask would somehow have her bike and they would find the others, where Lem would run and hug her legs in relief, and they would find a less volatile target to get their food and water from. Easy. Idealized maybe, but it would get her through this until she was home free. Until then she had to keep herself from setting off a pale man. She had only seen a couple up close, but they were sparked to violence by the simplest things, and knew how to kill in almost every way there was. As long as they kept their distance, she would try to keep hers, and then continue to keep it as soon as she was free and they were distracted. 

The truck jerked to a stop and she could hear the pale men talking to one another, but it was hard to catch anything more than snippets of what they were saying. There were other voices as well, less guttural ones, outside the car, but also cries of pain.

“Don’t touch!” One commanded, and voices of protest raised. “-belongs to the Immortan!” 

Closer to her, probably in the backseat, two others conversed. “-not a blood bag, alright? Didja even look at her?”

“No, she was too busy squirming like a rat.”

“Ya gotta look at her. Shiny, that one is.”

“‘Bout as shiny as yer ugly mug.” 

“Don’t be stupid!” The rear window was slammed open, and Toast twisted to stare her captors in the face, mustering the strongest glare she could. The two men stared down at her with their piercing black rimmed eyes, and the one of the right shook his head.

“Just another wanderer.”

“You aren’t looking!” The one on the left gave him a look of disdain before sliding through the window in a fluid, well rehearsed motion. His boots went on either side of her and he tangled his hand in her hair, jerking her head up for the other to see. Toast struggled, but he planted a boot on her calves like before so she couldn’t kick up. “No scars, no mates.” Mates? “All smooth like how Immortan likes ‘em.”

“Fuck you.” Toast hissed, and the two laughed.  
“How d’ya know she doesn’t have any of that? We’ve only seen that face.”

The pale man sighed and let go of her head, and when his hand went to Toast’s shawl a bolt of disgust went down her spine. No. No. She would fight until her bones cracked before they touched her that way. She jerked her shoulder, bucked up, but his hand went to her neck and held her to the floor and he flipped the shawl over her head to expose her mostly bare back to his fellow pale man. “Look! None. If she had mates, there would be some on ‘er back.” He flipped the shawl back down to her surprise. Most men would’ve relished in the opportunity, but then again she had never seen a pale man with a woman, nor had they ever take advantage of her or any of her sisters on the few occasions they clashed. 

“He could like ‘er.” The sceptical one finally ceded. “We’d live like Imperators if we brought ‘im another one.”

“Now ya see.”

“Another what?” Toast asked sharply. The way they were talking over her head was becoming insufferable. The pale men grinned at each other.

“Another wife.” The one above her said, and he grinned savagely at her before sliding back into the cab and slamming the window shut.

“What?” They ignored her shouts. “I will be no one’s wife! I don’t care who this worthless Immortan is!”

“Worthless!?” The window grew a crack from the force that the pale man exerted on opening it again. “Say that again you little smeg, and I’ll cut your tongue out! The great Immortan Joe rides eternal in this life and the next!”

Toast furrowed her brow at the strange insult and mythology. “Sounds like madman ravings.”

The pale man lunged for her, but his companion shoved him back. “Moron! That’s our bounty! She’ll learn.”

“She insulted The Immortan!”

“She won’t be doing much insulting if he likes her.” The truck started up again, bouncing as it mounted some incline. There were more voices outside the truck now, but they grew fainter as a mechanical clanking began and grew louder. The wind began to whistle, and Toast realized they were being lifted up. A voice called down, authoritative but old.

“We are warboys!”

“Warboys!” the men in the truck replied.

“Kamakrazee warboys!”

“Warboys!”

“Fukishima kamakrazee warboys!”

So that’s what they called themselves. The title made sense, these so-called warboys seemed to always be battling Buzzards and Rock Riders when they weren’t sparring each other for sport. Spying on them when they wandered close to the badlands showed her that much. The clanging stopped with a groan that shook the truck on its frame, and the it then drove forward. The sky was blocked from view by a tremendous stone ceiling and Toast felt a lump of fear rise in her throat despite her attempts to remain level headed. “You’ll be fine. You’re only here for a night.” she though. Surely this Joe person couldn’t make her a bride within a single day. They drove through a passage lit by electric lights that seemed to bore through one’s eyes and fry them to nothing. The passage relied more and more heavily on these lights as they went on, and the air began to turn heavy without the wind to ventilate this far in. The truck stopped once more in a room with a tall ceiling, and Toast could see the tops of tall stacks of fuel.

“Start unloading that guzzoline!” A man shouted, and then Toast found herself swarmed by dozens of young boys. They were painted white like the warboys, had the same baggy black pants and shaved heads, but were free of scarring on their bodies. A few still had the round bellies of childhood, while others were in the gangly stage of pre-adolescence. Warboys in training no doubt. They passed the cans of guzzoline (what a strange word) to each other in a chain until they moved the tarp. The boy who tore it away gasped when he laid eyes on her, and Toast spared him of any insults since he couldn’t be any older than six, but she gave him a heavy look. 

“Keep away from her, pups.” One of her kidnapper warboys warned. “That’s for Immortan Joe.”

Coos of acknowledgement went through the young ones and they went about their business while trying to steal glances at her. When the last pup crawled out of the truck bed the warboy who kicked her in the head jumped in and gave her a rotten smirk before hauling her over his shoulder. His hands didn’t roam, but held her legs down and her waist in place. “I don’t think your Joe wants his “wife” to be carried like a sack of bricks.” Toast snarked, but he just ignored her as he and the other four navigated the maze of a fortress. She began memorizing the passages, noting the symbol of a skull surrounded by a halo of flames and the different colors they appeared in as the moved from wing to wing.The humid air began to subside and there seemed to be more natural light filtering in from somewhere. 

“What d’you think you’re doing warboy?” Whoever said this spat out the word “warboy” like it was filth, and Toast had to agree with his inflection.

“Prince Rictus Erectus. This-” the one carrying bounced her on his shoulder. “Is for the honored Immortan.” There was pause as the gears of this Rictus person’s thoughts turned, then he went bellowing through an archway. 

“Colossus! Warboys brought a pretty lady for Pa!”

A faint voice called back. “Bring the Organic up! Let’s have a look at ‘er first!” Rictus stomped back over to them. 

“You! Go get ‘im!” a warboy scurried off. “Bring ‘er in ‘ere.” The warboys did as commanded, bringing Toast through the archway. The air was fresh here, and she could feel a breeze on her back. If she looked through the hair hanging in her face she could see lush greenery at the back of the room, framing a pool with the clearest water she had ever seen. Small waterfalls cycled the water out, and the sunlight breaking over the surface mesmerized her. This small moment of peace was broken by the warboy unloading her onto the floor. She was seated for a moment, but all of the restraints made her unbalanced and she tipped onto her side. The warboys about her laughed, mangled teeth bared like fangs in an expression that was supposed to be amusement, but just looked like a threat. Near the balcony there was a seat, almost like the kind one placed infants in, hung from cables and jointed poles that were attached to the ceiling, but a man’s voice came from it. “What’s takin’ so long?”

“Had a blood bag to hook up.” a heavy man with a beard and a bulging carpet bag said as he strode into the room with a swagger, dropping the bag to the ground. “Afraid I ain’t got a bag of patience t’hook you kids up to though.”

The chair swung around, revealing a man the size of a child with tubes of all sorts connected to him. He wheezed with every breath, but commanded respect through his grizzled face. “Don’t push your rank, Organic.”

“Take a joke Colossus.” He shook his head and approached Toast, crouching to her and sneering. His breath reeked, and the enormous sore on his lip made her wrinkle her nose. “Well well well. Not a bad catch there boys.” The warboys tittered at the praise while the voice belonging to Rictus sounded off behind her. 

“Will dad like her?” He sounded hopeful like a child. Why was he of all people so invested?

“Let’s see. Boy! Boltcutters.” He held out his hand and a warboy sifted through the carpet bag before producing a small set of cutters. “Get the chains off her arms and knees, leave her ankles and wrists, yeah?”

“Yes Organic.” He did as he was told and Toast rolled her shoulders, relishing the two sharp cracks as she stretched. Her arms were still helplessly tied behind her, but at least she could be somewhat comfortable. That sense of relief was taken away when the organic ripped her shawl from her. Rictus didn’t hide his staring and Toast wished she could stand and jab his eye out for ogling her in such a way.

“Well, no mates so far.” Organic said, stretching her linen top to gaze at more of her back. He lifted it to inspect at her stomach. “No swelling or discolor…” She couldn’t stand his grimy fingers on her skin anymore and spat at the top of his head. The warboys laughed as he looked up to glare at her, and he landed a slap to her cheek with the back of his hand, hard enough to make her head turn. “Don’t do that again. M’warning you.” He held his hand out and the warboy put a knife in it. He first cut the straps of her pack and handed it to the warboy. “You know what to do.” The first thing the warboy took out was her pistol and extra rounds, and he grinned with glee. The other warboys saw and two almost dove to snatch it from him, but the Organic took it before any of the trigger happy troops could make a mess with it and tucked it into the back of his belt, letting them keep a few bullets and putting the rest in his vest pocket. Next was the canteen, and after Toast was given a long gulp each boy was given a few swallows as a reward before it was thrown to the side, empty. The goggles were pocketed silently, and were her scarf and flares, and the food was given to the warboys again to split between them. The Organic snatched the bag searched the rest of the pockets, and was delighted by the dried berries in the front, downing the sweets in one snap of his jaws. “Do with that what you will.” He said as he tossed the pack at the boys, and they instantly began fighting over it until a muscled warboy won it after elbowing another in the ear. The injured one leaned against the wall as blood flowed from whatever vessel or drum the other popped. The Organic watched with mild interest before going back to Toast. He twirled the knife in his hand and he began sawing at the legs of her jeans.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Relax, just checking for mates.”

“What the hell are mates?”

He sighed impatiently. “Tumors.” 

“What makes you think I’d have tumors?” 

“Most everybody does. Now shut up missy.” He almost finished one leg before sitting up and glaring around the room. “Look away you pigs, this could be your new mommy and you’re here gawking like Wretched at Aqua Cola!” Rictus whined but turned on his heel, and the warboys followed suit silently. Colossus was the only one overseeing after that. 

“I’m no ones mommy, and definitely not anyones wife.” Toast snarled, but the Organic ignored her as the last of her jeans were peeled away. 

He held her open at the knees and inspected what was between her legs and Toast felt her skin burn with anger and shame. “And ya haven’t caught any pleasure sickness either. How’d ya even survive in the wasteland if you weren’t hocking this out to anyone?” 

“Die.” She said bluntly, and he just laughed as he sliced her linen shirt away as well. 

“Not small, but not big either. Guess it’s not like you’ll be feeding your own pups anyway.” He remarked. He forced her mouth open. “Only missing some teeth in the back, not bad. No holes, no fungus, no spots. Could use a brush. Something has to be done with these.” He tugged on a lock of tight curls on her head. “And that.” gesturing to the hair on the rest of her. 

“What? What for?” Women shaving? The only person she knew who shaved was Swimm, and only his face and scalp. 

“Wow. You really are out of it all.” The Organic snickered. “Do you bleed girl? Eh, what’s your name while we’re at it.”

“It doesn’t matter to you, on both counts.”

“It does matter. If you don’t bleed I might as well kill ya right now.” 

She bit her cheek in disgust and slowly nodded in reply. “Great. And the name?” She thought of giving him a fake one, but there would be no point. She wouldn’t be here long anyway, and after she rejoined Swimm and the others she would get them far away from this place so they could never find her. 

“Toast.”

“Huh. How’d ya get that?”

She didn’t want to answer, but he seemed to be able to act on every whim he had, and not pleasing him could result in something far more painful than a shave. “I’m the only one of my family who gets sunburnt. Toasted.” That wasn’t the real story, but he didn’t need to know. 

“Funny, the names you wanderers come up with.” He turned her over and looked at her injured hand. He unwrapped the makeshift bandage and applied some sort of poultice that made the wound burn, and then wrapped it up again in something softer and clean feeling. Her boots were pulled from her feet next and he examined those as well. “Nothing here we can’t fix.” He flipped her back over and tilted his head to call to a warboy. “One of ya get Miss Giddy, tell her we got a new one!” 

“New mommy?” Rictus asked joyfully. Toast turned her head and saw this man for the first time. He was massive in both height and muscle, enough to make her nervous, and had an enormous tank strapped to his back. This was the man with the tone of a young boy who just received a present?

“If yer dad likes ‘er, yup.” The Organic stood up and put his tools back into the carpet bag which Toast now noticed was stained with old blood. Rictus shifted on his feet with excitement. The warboy came back with an elderly woman in tow. She had words tattooed across every inch of skin, and when her red rimmed eyes landed on Toast the compassion in them nearly made her forget she was in captivity. Miss Giddy carried several pieces of white cloth in her arms, and she lowered herself to Toast’s level on knobby knees. 

“Who are you?” She asked tenderly, and her soft touches as she wrapped the white fabric around her reminded her of how Sou would smooth her brow with her wrinkled hands. 

“Toast.” She croaked in reply, and Miss Giddy smiled reassuringly.

“That’s a name I haven’t heard before.” Toast now had a wrap dress of this thin cloth that Miss Giddy fastened under the bust with a thick string. “There.”

“You can turn around now.” The Organic said to the rest. Rictus was bouncing on his heels and the warboys whispered among themselves again when they laid eyes on her. Toast reached for her shawl and Miss Giddy went to get it for her, but Rictus snatched it up before either of the women could lay a hand on it. 

“Mine now.” He sneered, and Toast would’ve spat on him if Miss Giddy’s warning gaze hadn’t stopped her. He put it to his face and took a deep breath. “Toast smells like guzzoline.”

“That’s enough.” Colossus was clearly grated by the presence of his dim brother. “Miss Giddy, get ‘er ready to see dad.”

Miss Giddy seemed to forget for a moment that her purpose was to groom Toast for further inspection. Her serene look crashed to the floor and she nodded quickly. The warboy from before broke the chains at Toast’s wrists and ankles and snatched them back up, tucking them into one of the many pockets on his pants. They left the archway and Toast thought about making a run for it, but what use would it be without supplies? She could play the game for a little bit if it let her gather resources for her escape. At least Miss Giddy’s presence was comforting. It was a relief to see someone soft in this realm of violation and relentless fighting. Even to someone who was used to fighting for survival like Toast was already exhausted. They went through a narrow passage and up some stairs, and there was a bolted door. Miss Giddy produced a heavy iron key from her shift and turned it in the singular lock. It took all of her weight to just unlock it, and when she had to open it Toast felt so awful at watching this old woman struggle that she helped her open it, despite not knowing what was planned for her on the other side. What was laid out before her was a pit full of water and a shelf carved out of the wall filled with bottles. “Get in dear.” Miss Giddy said, helping her undo the strap on her dress.

“Get in…?”

“To bathe.”

“Bathe.” Toast couldn’t remember a time where she’d had more than a damp rag to clean herself behind a tent flap. Perhaps she’d never had anything more than that. “I don’t…”

“You must. Please.” Miss Giddy gently took the wrap off of her, leaving her exposed. “You aren’t safe until he accepts you.”

“Joe.” Toast spat the name out. “Right.” She didn’t want to take her revulsion out on Miss Giddy, but it was difficult not to. Reluctantly she sunk into the bath, and she didn’t like how much she enjoyed the sensation of being enveloped it water. Then the guilt came. She had never seen so much water in a single day, and she was using it to scrub away filth. She also considered the implications of being totally clean. Now when she went back to her family she would have to build up a tolerance for being less than washed again, which would surely be unpleasant. Still, she let Miss Giddy sit on the side and dip her tired looking feet in while she scrubbed at every bit of Toast’s skin with a soapy cloth until it was raw and the water became hazy. She even got into her ears and nostrils, but was kind enough to give the cloth to Toast when she wanted her to wash between her legs. 

“It’s a pity.” Miss Giddy said as she fluffed Toast’s bouncy curls. “Immortan Joe dislikes these. He wants hair he can run fingers through.” She shook her head and she retrieved another bottle from the shelf. 

“I like my hair.” Toast said, bringing her hands to it. This hair had been braided, twisted, trimmed, and loosened by her friends countless times. Sou had pressed kisses into this hair, Swimm had rustled it after she made him laugh, Alo had expressed her admiration when Bask and Chell found new designs to shape it into. “No, I love it.”

“I’m so sorry dear.” Miss Giddy somberly began oiling her hair into separate pieces, but Toast jerked away. 

“Miss Giddy-”

“I don’t want to to do it. But we have to do what the Immortan wants.” There was almost anger in her voice.

“Why? He’s just a man. All men are.”

“Not he. He’s our leader, our ruler. Everyone here worships him like a God.”

“He is no God...Is he…?”

“I...don’t think so. But he has enough influence that he might as well be. Now please let me keep you safe.” That line made Toast stop evading her touches, and with gritted teeth she let Miss Giddy smooth her hair down and then apply some sort of cream. Toast wondered where she got such a cosmetic from, and figured from the acrid smell of the halls below them that the warboys must’ve had access to all sorts of chemicals, and making this couldn’t have been difficult. The process seemed to take ages, but when she rinsed the products away Toast’s hair hung limp, lifeless, and dry just above her chest. That was almost too much and she felt frustrated tears gloss over her eyes. What if this was permanent? What would her friends do to it when they were reunited? She splashed water on her face to hide it, but the tears didn’t fall anyway. Miss Giddy turned some switches so a faucet and drain replaced the dirty water with clean, and then she produced a razor blade from the shelf. It was like the kind Swimm used on his face, but much sharper. Silently she let Miss Giddy remove the hair from her legs, armpits, forearms, and then showed her how to shave her crotch. Toast didn’t like the way her legs slid together like skinned meat. Then the hair was plucked painfully from her face, which she found entirely unnecessary. The hair there was soft and short, what was the point? but her caretaker just shrugged and continued until only her eyebrows remained. After that she was instructed to sit on the edge and rub a sweet balm into her skin while Miss Giddy wore down the callouses on her feet with a rough stone, and just when she thought she was done the callouses on her palms had to be shorn away too. 

After the ordeal Toast felt like an infant who hadn’t even taken their first steps. Hairless, smoothed to fragility, and shivering as she was dried off. The wrap was replaced by a new, clean sheet of cloth and refastened, and she followed Miss Giddy out again. The feeling of her hair on her back was quickly irksome, so she tore a piece of her dress and knotted it into a loop for her to tie it up into a bun, which alleviated the strange feeling for the moment. “Are we seeing…?”

“Yes, now we see Immortan Joe.” Miss Giddy answered. They went through a slim passage and up another staircase, and here was an open room filled with green plants. Toast felt a leaf between her fingers as she passed it, but she tugged too hard and it came off in her hand. She let it fall and looked forward again, and behind all of these rows of greenery was a huge vault set into the wall. Miss Giddy knocked a pattern into the steel with bony knuckles, and a few seconds later the latch spun and the door swung open. The light from the room on the other side was bright and a balmy breeze brushed past them. The figure was obscured by the shadow it casted, but it was clearly a tall, thickly built man standing there. “Immortan.” Miss Giddy said in a rehearsed tone as she slowly backed away from Toast. “A prospective wife for you. A warboy pack found her wandering. Her name is Toast.” 

He took heavy steps toward her and Toast couldn’t help but take a step back just from the sound of his boots reverberating on the vault tunnel. The light finally slanted onto his face, and Toast bit down the gasp that almost crawled from her throat. He wore a mask fitted with a set of grinning horse jaws, and cables connected it to a pulsing sack at the back of his neck. A pendant just above the split of his legs bore a symbol that she instantly recognized. That same mark had been on the corridor walls. The skull glared up at her with hollow eyes from his low slung belt, connecting his trousers, train, empty gun holsters, and clear breastplate bedecked with medals and other honors. In his hand was a staff polished to a shine with a fearsome club on the end, which he held with a grip that could’ve choked the life from a living being. His long white hair formed almost a mane about his figure, and Toast saw why they thought him a God. She had to remind herself that he was human somehow, finding only the bags under his eyes to be of any assistance in keeping calm. Gods didn’t grow weary. 

“...Toast.” His voice was gravelly and mechanical through the mask, and the lack of motion in his horse teeth made him only look more inhuman. His skin was painted white like a warboy, with the same blackened eyes. He reached his free hand to her and touched her hair, but when his knuckles grazed her chest she flinched. “Be not afraid. Be in awe.” If that was a comfort, it wasn’t working. “For you please me, and you are now my wife to be.” Toast almost shook her head on reflex, but stopped herself. He turned back around and went inside. 

“Follow.” Miss Giddy said while not giving Toast a chance to say otherwise. She pushed her into the vault, and Toast turned and reached for the door. Damn the supplies. Damn her fragile feet. She couldn’t be in the same room with him, much less marry him, even for a day. But the vault slammed shut and echoed through Toast’s entire being. 

She didn’t even realize she was saying “No” over and over like a mantra until Miss Giddy’s hands went to the side of her face. “It’s okay. You’ve never been safer than here.” But Toast knew she was lying and everyone had lied she should’ve kept fighting the Organic should’ve disrespected Rictus should’ve ran when Miss Giddy took her away from warboy eyes it was too much all at once and-

 

Candlelight was the first thing she saw when she came to. She was in a plush bed with a thick blanket over her, and the pillow under her head was the softest sack of feathers she had ever rested upon. It was relaxing, calming even, but then she remembered where she was.

She bolted upright in bed and her eyes darted across the room. There was another bed that was occupied by a person completely covered in a blanket, but with a tuft of white hair showing, and she hoped it wasn’t him. There were baskets of sheer white cloth tucked under them both, and another small basket with sparkling pieces of metal. A table of curling wrought iron held a heavy pile of candles that had melted together into one blazing mound of light in the corner. Toast heard her breath quicken and swallowed air try and regulate it, but the person in the other bed still shifted awake. “Oh, you’ve risen.” A woman’s voice, as light and dreamy as a desert mirage, and then she sat up. She had striking pale eyes and a thin, angular face framed by those white blonde locks that had almost set Toast into a panic. She tilted her head as she looked at her new companion. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No.” Toast said while willing her hammering heart to stop crashing against her chest. “I thought you were someone else.” 

The girl bit her thin lips for a moment. “Him?”

“...Yes.”

“Ah.” She rose to her feet, wide but with that same scrubbed look. Steady and perfect for running, Toast thought. “I’ll tell Angharad.” Before she could ask who Angharad was the girl was out of the archway and into the other room. Toast stood up and looked for her boots, but they hadn’t been returned to her like her shawl and she gave an exasperated sigh. When she got to her feet the girl was back with another, this one older looking. Everything about her was long and elegant from her hair to her face to her legs, and the harmony was only broken by a few short straight scars across her arms. 

“So you’re Toast.” This woman said. Her voice was rich. “I’m Angharad, this is…” She nudged her fellow wife to introduce herself.

The pale girl looked defeated. “The Dag.” She seemed to wait for a reaction from Toast, and was surprised when she just looked confused. “It...It means odd.”

“Oh.” Toast itched to get away from them. The last thing she needed was to make friends. She had already let herself grow too attached to Miss Giddy. 

Angharad waited for more, but spoke when none came. “We’re wives, like you’re going to become in two more days.”

“How did they find you?” The Dag asked. She certainly had no qualms about digging for the personal in this predicament. 

“Dag…”

“Let her answer, Angharad.” 

Toast’s surprise melted to annoyance. “Doesn’t matter how I got here. I’m not staying.”

The girls were silenced and glanced at each other for a long while. “...You can’t leave.” Angharad said.

“Why not? This some kind of treat for you?” Toast’s words were biting, and she began searching again for some sort of footwear for her escape. 

Whatever warmth Angharad had was gone in an instant. “No. It’s isn’t-”

“So you do have some sense. Good for you.” There seemed to be no shoes, so she began looking through the basket for something she could shape pants out of. “I’m busy, go away.”

“No one wants to be here.” The Dag backed away after Angharad said that, and she drifted out of the doorway again. “But I don’t see how you’re getting out.”

“I’ve gotten myself out of plenty of situations.” None of the fabric was strong enough to make anything but flowing garments, and when she tried to wrap it tight around her it would tear. “What makes this so different?”

“Look out the window.” Angharad crossed her arms and walked out, and Toast found herself following for some reason. Candlelight flickered in the room she had glanced over Joe’s shoulder. It was vaulted with a glass ceiling she could see the stars through and a pool of water in the middle. There was a big black table with a bench tucked under it on her right, and stacks and stacks of paper she faintly remembered being called books by Sou. There were steps on the side of the rock where their room was carved out, leading up to a resting place draped in all sorts of colors from the blooms that grew there, as well as an entryway to another darkened room carved into the wall. There were two other rooms on the ground level, One small and tucked into the corner with a door, and another like the one she had woken up in. Toast was awestruck for a moment, but reality sank in as it always did as she remembered this place was a prison, no matter how much it was dressed up to be a sanctuary. She followed Angharad to the window where The Dag was already standing with her head resting against the glass. Toast shot Angharad a look before diverting it out the window.

They were hundreds of feet in the air, or at least it felt like it. Below were dim clumps of light that looked like fireflies, but were really groups of common people around group fires. Across from them was another plateau almost as high and covered in plant life. Some torches were burning over there, and near them she could see the tiny white bodies of the warboys as they worked in the late hours over there. So this was the place the “pale men” truly lived. They made these mountains into a castle.

Escape might’ve been harder than originally planned.

“See?” Angharad asked, letting her malice from before exit her tone. “No one’s done it.” She reached a hand out to Toast to smooth her hair, but Toast jerked back immediately and stared at her with hard eyes.

“Never.” She decreed, and Angharad just pulled her hand back as if burned while The Dag snickered to herself.

“What’s so funny?” her friend asked.

“The futility.” 

“Don’t say that.”

Toast let them converse as she searched for any sort of chink in the vaults armor. It was too dark to see much of anything, but she was running on steel determination now and wouldn’t be deterred. It was while she was doing this that she was tapped on the shoulder by another girlish hand.

“Yes.” She didn’t turn around, didn’t pose it as a question, but a woman went to her side anyway. Her hair was light brown and almost down to her pelvis, and she had freckles along her nose and shoulders. 

“You shouldn’t poke around. It’s late. You’ve had a hard day no doubt.”

“Who are you.”

“My name is Ormala.” She gave a little bow that Toast didn’t return, but she glanced down and noticed the roundness of Ormala’s belly. She wondered if the baby would be born with horse teeth. “Listen, Angharad is right.”

“I can sleep when I’m out of here safe.”

“You aren’t getting out through the window. Joe made sure there was nothing we could climb out with. The blankets are too short, and our clothes are too thin for rope.” So that’s why it tore as easily as a leaf. 

“You’ve tried?”

“I’ve considered. But then I became with child.” She smiled as brightly as the sun at that, but it had a hint of something not quite right that Toast couldn’t place. “Little Joe. I’m learning Latin so I can give him a proper name like his brothers.”

“It could be a girl.” Toast offered, mostly to break Ormala’s disturbing cheerfulness.

Her smile twitched. “No. It’s an heir to the Empire. An immortal boy that I have the honor of carrying in my womb.”

Toast nodded slowly in hopes that would shake her off. “Good for you.”

“Good for us all. The others don’t share my joy just yet, but they’ll learn.” 

“I’m sure they will.” Toast rolled her eyes.

“You should stop now.” Ormala said brightly.

“Like hell.”

“I’m warning you.”

“What are you going to do about it? I won’t hit a woman with child but I won’t let you stop me.”

“I’ll alert the Immortan. He’s right over there.” She pointed to the large room above them. “He’s with his newest tonight, so he’ll be especially angry at you.”

Toast looked at her in disbelief and Ormala just kept smiling. Her hands ran over her large belly as if to tell the child of this smug exchange. “...His newest.” She said after a pause, standing up and letting her hands rest at her sides.

Ormala nodded. “Yes. They were married only last week. Her name is Capable.” 

“You’ll like her, I think.” Angharad said as she walked over to them. Ormala’s smile finally went away at the sight of her. “But for now I think you should rest. You have many people to meet tomorrow.” Ormala turned curtly and walked to the other room. Angharad’s eyes were soft as she looked at her. “Sleep well, Toast.” Her feet sounded quietly on the floor as she followed the pregnant wife.

“Coming?” The Dag asked from the doorway of their shared room. Toast just nodded and walked over, curling up in her bed silently. The Dag didn’t seem as chatty as the other two, and only hummed to herself for a few moments before falling quiet, her breaths coming in even. Toast listened, and soon was asleep as well.


	3. Sighted

_“Little Sister!” Swimm called, his teeth flashing bright. Toast was running across the desert to him, the sun warming her inside and out. Home. Swimm was home all along. Bask blew a kiss to her, Chell waved both hands over his head, laughing bright and glowing with health. What wound? Alo beckoned her on. “Almost there!” Sou with her heavy twisted hair waited, smiling patiently, holding Lem so he couldn’t run towards her, but he broke free and met her halfway. Toast scooped him up in her arms. He smelled like almonds and sunshine, and Toast kissed his cheek. Everyone else was upon her then, squirming to get at least an hand to hers. Sou’s soft, aged arms were around her and Swimm encircled them both, protectively hard and squared where Sou was yielding and comfortable. Bask and Chell pressed kisses to her curly hair and Alo was tucked into her arm. Home. Desert breeze and the sun caressing their skin. Her joy could move mountains, make water fall from the sky like the forgotten times-_

The dream ended when a hand shook her awake. 

“Sou?” She croaked, but the skin was too light and decorated.

“No. It’s me. Miss Giddy. It’s time to rise.” The room came into focus. Same blanket, same stone walls, and Toast bit her tongue to keep from lashing out. It had felt so real.

“I don’t want to.”

“You must. The Immortan is presenting you to The Wretched.”

“Who?”

“The common people at the ground.”

“Don’t make me.”

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.” Toast bit her tongue again as she got to her feet. Miss Giddy quietly redressed her in more flowing whites, making another dress, but this one with a few braided pieces for decoration. She brought her out and had her wait outside the room with the door, which was both a water closet and a storage room for white cloth and jars like the kind in the pool she had been bathed in on her first day, but all of those were locked in a cabinet. Miss Giddy retrieved a few things, locked the cabinet and door behind her, and brought her over to a wall near the vault where a desk and looking glass were attached. Toast looked over the wall closest to the window and saw a huge piece of black slate with five chairs positioned before it. Greye would use slate pieces to teach children lessons, so this must have had a similar function. Maybe Joe did like his girls with some sense. Miss Giddy sat her down on a bench before it, and she brushed her hair and styled it so that the top layers were tied behind her head while the rest flowed down her shoulders. A coloring stain was put on her lips, and light powder dabbed on her eyelids, and she was led to the pool. The wives were all gathered around it with their feet in. A new woman with bright red hair and a set of shoulders that weren’t necessarily big, for Joe undoubtedly would’ve disliked this, but strong looking, and Toast figured that had to be Capable. Miss Giddy got into the pool and began massaging their feet with the oils she retrieved from the closet, and Toast struggled not to kick her when she was accidentally tickled. The wives held bowls of something delicious smelling in their laps, and Angharad handed one to her. “Eggs and pork.” She said. “Miss Giddy wanted you to have something hearty for today.” 

Toast nodded at her in the barest of thanks and began eating. It was smokey and tasted heavenly. She had never eaten eggs before, they were a luxury only Greye spoke of sometimes in longing. She drank from a tall glass of water passed to her, but when she expected more food a bristled wand was handed to her. “What’s this?”

“For your teeth.” The Dag said.

“You get used to it.” Capable said as Ormala handed her a jar of white paste. She dipped the bristles in and began scrubbing at the inside of her mouth, but her motions were jerky and unsure. The Dag, Angharad, and Ormala seemed plenty familiar, and they spat the refuse into a cup Miss Giddy held under their chins in turn. Toast dipped the bristles of her out wand into the jar and tried scrubbing, ending up poking herself in the cheek a few times in the process. What a strange ritual. She too spat in the cup and Miss Giddy took it away. Her tribe would scrape at their teeth with the bones of mice to rid themselves of the food caught in the spaces, and they would rinse their mouths out every once in a while, but they had never been so thorough. She remembered Alo complaining of a pain in her tooth and Greye had just wrenched it out with pliers, a process she had been through with her farthest back teeth. Maybe this was so they didn’t have to resort to that.

The girls drifted apart after that. Capable and Angharad went to the flower deck, and The Dag to the window. Ormala sat by the black table with a book her lap, a colorful one that she read aloud to the baby in her belly. “Let’s go.” Miss Giddy said to Toast, and when she opened her mouth to object once more she popped a leaf into her mouth. “Suck on that.” Mint, Swimm burned these leaves around sick people to help clear their lungs, but Miss Giddy only gave her a few seconds before opening her palm and letting Toast spit it out. They waited by the door, and soon enough the vault was swung open and The Immortan stood there. Without shadows and failing light he was less fearsome, but that wasn’t saying much. Toast tried to instead be disgusted by him rather than frightened. 

“Come.” He ordered, and Miss Giddy pushed her along after him. She thought she would only trail behind him, but he grabbed her and kept a hand to her waist. His palms were clammy and Toast felt revulsion shake through her, but kept behaving. There was nowhere to run at the moment, no point in making a scene. They went through the archway from the day before and to the gathering place. The pool was still crystal clear and the plants lush and thriving, and Colossus was still in his chair that faced the balcony. The name seemed ironic. Compensating. 

“Rictus has been sent for.” Colossus told the Immortan.

“Good.” His voice sounded even more artificial somehow. He turned to Toast. “I trust you’ve met your fellow wives?”

“Yes.” Toast answered shortly, barely moving her head to look at him. 

“What do you think?”

“They’re…” Useless. Preened nearly to death. Can't even spit into a cup by themselves. “Stunning.”

“They should be no less.”

Rictus stomped up shortly after, adjusting his chin strap. “You like her!” He exclaimed happily when he saw Immortan Joe holding Toast.

“Yes Rictus.” He said with as much patience as he could muster, which wasn’t a lot. Colossus turned his chair to face them, and it clanked as the chair moved closer. Toast saw just how sickly he looked, even when his stunted limbs weren't taken into account. “Miss Giddy, the rest.” the old woman left her slowly, but picked up her pace when she was out the door. Then Joe gestured to his sons.

“Rictus Erectus, the eldest.” He bowed clumsily, all seven feet of him, and Toast looked at the hands that could easily circle her thigh in one grip. A brute with the mind of a child and the strength of two men, who had a fascination with her on top of it. She would avoid him whenever she could.

“Corpus Colossus, my youngest.” This son couldn’t bow or even stand, but he placed a small fist over his struggling heart. He seemed strong in mind to make up for the weakness of his body. She knew he recognized her quick wit and reminded herself to be careful around this one. She waited for more of his spawn to arrive, but none came. With so many wives, you’d think she’d have more children to meet.

Miss Giddy returned with the Wives in tow. They looked nervous to be outside of their cage, all except Capable, the newest, who still found it all familiar. “My treasures.” Immortan Joe’s voice made an attempt at being endearing, but just sounded even more like metal scraping against itself. “How do you find Toast?”

“Beautiful.” Angharad said, clearly to please the Immortan more than to express her actual thoughts. “And clever.”

“Itchy.” The Dag said, and while Toast understood and agreed the men just laughed at what they thought to be a strange, aimless comment. Classic Dag. 

“Beautiful.” Capable said to echo Angharad, but he didn’t seem to tire of hearing it.

“And you, Orlama?” he asked when she said nothing. Her eyes narrowed with her smile.

“Hardheaded. But...beautiful.”

“Excellent. You will adore one another as sisters soon enough.” His grip on her waist tightened and he brought her to the balcony, but slightly behind him so that the shadows still fell over her. There were two metal switches there, along with a microphone. “Cue the drums.” He said to an attending warboy, who echoed the command at a much higher volume. Seconds later, war drums began a song, attracting the attention of the hundreds below them. The drums weren’t aggressive, but celebratory. They sounded off from the outcropping below them, and Toast could see the platform she had been driven in on. That was the entrance to the fortress, and this was the palace on top. 

The people below gathered around the base of the Citadel, and their curious voices rose to a dull roar. Joe let them make their noise for a few beats, then gripped the microphone in his free hand and held it to the warboy’s mouth.

“The Great Immortan Joe commands your attention!” He shouted into it. More cheering, the slamming of hands against smaller drums. Buckets maybe? Joe brought the microphone to his own mouth, or rather the apparatus attached to it.

“Excellent news awaits you, my friends!” He announced, and he paused for cheers once more before beginning. “I, Immortan Joe, He who grabs the Sun, will be taking on another wife!” He brought Toast into the light, and upon seeing her there was a clamorous uproar. Toast squinted as her eyes adjusted, but from several stories below she looked like a shining goddess, a beacon of health and life in a land made of death, but she wasn’t paying attention. Beyond the opposite citadel where the crops were grown she could see a fuzzy plateau standing out from the landscape. The smallest one compared to these two, which she had always assumed to just be rocks and not an entire civilization. That tiny plateau was her target, and even fainter still was the smoke rising from it, the remnants of the fire from the night before. Her family was mere minutes away if she got a vehicle, and maybe half an hour by foot. “This lovely creature before you will bring forth many more Immortans to come, sons to rule beside me in this world and the next! You will bow to her holiness as you bow to mine!” They began to chant his name but Toast couldn’t hear. “The wedding is in three days. You will bring gifts to please your Immortan and his new bride!” He placed the microphone back and receded back into the cave, pulling Toast with him. She noticed that he had never once said her name to the crowd despite his gloating. She still allowed herself the smallest of smiles. He wouldn’t have a bride to marry in three days. 

“I expect a grand dress for her.” He told Miss Giddy, and he moved to his sons. “Remember Rictus.” His tone was severe. “You cannot touch.”

“But Pa-”

“No.” Immortan Joe was ferocious at all times, Toast had learned that much, but it flared now. “I’ll have your slack-jawed skull for a hood ornament before you lay a hand on what’s mine.” Rictus whined and stomped his foot, but didn’t disagree any more than that. Next he crossed to Ormala. “How is he?” He asked, and she smiled at him like he really had grabbed the sun.

“Strong and kicking, my Immortan.” She placed his square hand on her belly. “Feel it?”

“Yes.” He seemed pleased, and he rubbed the spot. “My wives, back to our home.” Hesitantly they followed, and Toast hung in back with Capable. Angharad had been right, she certainly appreciated the redhead’s bluntness, even the way it showed itself in her demeanor. For the brief moment they were in the corridor, all of the warboys stopped their little jobs and stared at them, and then they wove their fingers together and held them over their shaved heads. Ormala giggled, The Dag rolled her eyes, Capable looked away, and Angharad just looked tired. They stayed in this position until the wives were ushered up and out of sight, and Toast could hear their awestruck whispers echoing up the stairs and through the greenhouse until the vault came into view. 

As they were led through by Miss Giddy, though not followed in, Ormala spoke again over the slamming and locking of the vault. “My Immortan.” She whined, drawing out the a. “I’m sick of climbing all of those stairs. Your heir is getting too heavy to carry around.”

“I won’t make you take another step up or down them then.” He said in an almost adoring fashion.

She pouted playfully. “Promise?” 

“Of course.” He caressed her cheek, but it was too fast, pressed harshly to her cheekbone. “Dag!” He barked suddenly, and with a glare she slunk over to them. “Sing us a song, Capable will accompany you. Ormala, play the piano. And Toast,” He looked her over. “To your room. I want to look at you with fresh eyes come our wedding night.” With his instructions finished he snatched Angharad by the waist and pulled her to him, lowering them both onto the steps to the flower deck. She forced a smile when he took a deep breath of her scent and buried his face with the grinning skull mouth into her neck. She looked up to meet Toast’s eyes, but Toast ducked into the room before any feeling could be communicated. It was unfortunate, what they had to do, and if she had the power she would stop it, but they weren’t her priority, they weren’t her family, and there were some things you just had to let be if it meant you could live on.

Toast flopped onto her mattress. She brought her hand to her face and wiped the powder from her eyes, and then tried to get the stain from her lips, but only succeeded in smearing it all over her mouth. She could run without even needing food and water for the journey, she just needed to get out of the vault. She only had tomorrow and the day after, and then they would think her lost and move on through the desert. But that would be more time than she needed if she could just find the weaknesses of this place. She could get Immortan Joe to take her sightseeing, brag about his luxuries, but he didn’t even want to lay eyes on her and frankly, he wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that. No one else seemed to come to the vault except for Miss Giddy and while she seemed to hate the Immortan as much as Toast did, she was too feeble to defy him, so Toast was on her own. She threw the blanket over herself and growled into her pillow from frustration, but then it hit her. 

The blankets were "too short" according to Ormala, and maybe that was true, there was no way they could get you anywhere near the ground, maybe not even to a ledge, but what about the plants around them? Judging from the view she had gotten the night before, the vault and greenhouse were near the summit, but still forward facing. That meant that one side was a steep drop off, while the other was nearly vertical rock. However, Joe had fostered a thick canopy of plants around them, plants that if she held onto them could probably support her weight. Even if they couldn’t there were plenty of warboy mechanisms she could try and land on since they apparently farmed the mountaintops. It may have been a death wish for the delicate and inexperienced, but Toast had climbed her share of rock formations, hills, and boulders. She could climb down this way if she really pushed herself. Without a doubt it was a tremendous gamble. What if the foliage was too thin? Or the platforms and pulleys were farther away than she assumed? But there was no other way, not with the only other exit being the vault, a vault that only Immortan Joe knew the combination for, even Miss Giddy had to knock and be let inside by him, and otherwise she never left. Despite the danger Toast smiled genuinely for the first time since the morning before. Once she had made it to the ground she would run as fast as her new softened feet would carry her, run straight into the arms of her family like in her dream. She couldn’t stop her feet from giving an excited little kick beneath the blanket, this cloth that would be her spider thread to freedom. The Dag and Capable’s singing sounded wheedling and unimportant like an insect buzzing near her ear. She let herself be idle for a moment. What was a piano? An instrument obviously, but she had seen no instruments in the room. Maybe it was stored in that black table. Hours passed, the sun began to sink, and once all of the candles were lit The Dag came into their room. She was rubbing her throat from the almost-neverending performance when she looked at Toast.

“Joe took Angharad to his den, you can come out now.” She croaked, and Miss Giddy came in shortly after with a cup of something hot for her to drink. Toast hadn’t heard the vault open, but maybe Miss Giddy had her own quarters somewhere nearby. She didn’t stop to chat, as she had another cup that had to be for Capable, and she shuffled back out. Toast nodded at The Dag and crept back out. It was the same as the night before, only the other dormitory was lit up, and she could see Miss Giddy and Ormala talking while Capable sipped at the remedy she had been given. Ormala was rubbing her stomach and indeed looked weary from the trip downstairs, she had to be no less than eight months along her pregnancy judging by how much she had swelled up. Miss Giddy even go to her knees in front of her and began to rub her delicate feet. The momentary curiosity passed and Toast went to the window. She couldn’t see the smallest plateau in the dark, but she could see a flickering speck of fire. Her hand pressed to the glass over the faint glow and she took a slow breath. Soon she would be home. She had to tear herself away to start assessing the situation before her. The window had no latches, no way to be opened, and when she looked up to the dome it seemed to be the same there. So she would have to break the glass. The only way to do it without the whole fortress coming down on her was during the day when Immortan Joe was performing his duties, at a time when the wives wouldn’t be paying attention to her either. Angharad and The Dag didn’t seem like they would bring attention to it, and though she just met Capable she didn’t think she would either. It was Ormala that would raise hell, go crying to Joe or his sons, and then Toast wouldn’t even have a chance. What was wrong with her anyway? How could she enjoy carrying the spawn of that man inside her? The man who forced himself on her? Or maybe it wasn’t force at all with how readily she went to him. The way she threatened to expose Toast’s plans on the first night told of a loyalty that didn’t make sense to her at all. Ormala was a snake, and Toast couldn’t leave anything to chance with her around. She would have to wait another day to find out the routine of the wives and Joe anyway, and hopefully that wouldn’t entail anymore ceremony, but Miss Giddy hadn’t mentioned any so she was probably safe to observe. 

With the silence of the others she could hear the faint grunts and sighs from The Immortan’s den and a sick taste came to her mouth. None of the noises sounded feminine in nature, so Angharad was likely just laying there and waiting for it to be over. If Toast knew she could run right then she would’ve done something, and she still wanted to despite being at Joe’s mercy, but it was useless. Sick to her stomach, she went back to her room. The Dag’s empty cup sat on the floor while she sat up in bed, staring at her hands. She said nothing to Toast when she came in, and was still silent as Toast went under her blanket and fell asleep.

-

The following morning proceeded like the last: gathering around the pool, breakfast, and teeth scrubbing. This time though, Miss Giddy brought out the jars from the closet and the wives stripped for a bath. Angharad wouldn’t let Miss Giddy touch her, preferring to keep strange hands off of her after the night before. Toast was reluctant to appear naked in front of them but, like every other occasion, it wasn’t her choice and she let Miss Giddy scrub at the hard-to-reach spot between her shoulderblades. They were all given mint leaves to suck on as they were sent to air dry, and Miss Giddy gathered the pieces of their clothes and took them away to be washed. The wives chose to wrap themselves in the long white sheets stored under their beds and Toast followed suit. The Dag looked like a swaddled infant with the way she had covered her hair with her sheet while most of her legs were uncovered, while Angharad held the fabric like a dress around her. Toast had only ever seen her with the lip stain on, but with it rubbed away she saw that her mouth was still very red, almost making the stain gratuitous. 

“Capable, you’re going to pull your hair out.” Ormala sighed irritably as Capable tried to force her fingers through her hair.

“You have straight hair. You don’t know what it’s like.” Capable retorted. “This is the only time I can brush it.”

“Then use a brush.”

“It’s in the closet.”

“Ask Miss Giddy for it.”

“Why don’t you leave me alone?”

“The Immortan won’t be pleased if you start losing your hair.”

“Oh just shut-”

“Enough.” Angharad’s voice didn’t raise, but it still seemed like she had yelled. All of the wives looked at her. “It’s too early for this.” 

“I’m just trying to help.” Ormala said superiorly, and Capable glared.

“Help yourself maybe. You’d love it if I went bald and was sent back to The Wretched.”

“Capable that’s preposterous!” 

“You would. You’re jealous.” She added on in a grumble, “I don’t know why. What we do isn’t anything to be jealous of.”

Ormala’s face began to turn red. “Angharad! Do you hear this?”

“Yes.” Angharad said bluntly. 

“Do you agree?”

“You’re both above this squabbling. Capable is young, she has an excuse. What do you have?”

Toast tensed up. She saw the way Ormala’s hands were clenching, and the look in her eyes was unmistakable. But all at once she was calm and she stood as straight as she could, turning her nose up. “I have the heir to the Citadel in my womb. That’s my excuse. Why, I’m practically The Immortan’s Queen.”

Angharad shook her head. “You as much of a Queen as the rest of us are. Which is not at all.” With that she walked away, and Capable followed her closely, shooting a dagger glance at Ormala. But the pair didn’t get far before Miss Giddy returned with clean clothes and began to pass them out.

Finally there were more than pieces of cloth to choose from, for there were actual garments in the basket as well. Toast tried to find the most practical articles she could, which wasn’t saying much as all she could come up with were a long sleeve shirt without a midriff and a pair of layered shorts. Then she had to endure more poking and preening as the rest of their appearance was put together for another day, and only then were they sat down in front of the slate board. “Toast, I don’t expect you to know everything I’ve taught these girls so far, so just say something if you’re confused.” Miss Giddy said gently before she began writing on the board. It had something to do with the oil wars, the same ones Greye and Sou had lived through, and Toast found that while Miss Giddy was well meaning, she didn’t seem to realize that she wasn’t the only one who knew of the forgotten times. It was easy to keep up, maybe even too easy at times. So after bathing was lessons, she would remember that.

“What happened to the other lands?” Capable asked after a long lecture. “You never said what they did after the war.”

“Well remember, most of Russia became uninhabitable, as did the United States. We took a fair share of bombs ourselves, but we’re so far from the epicenter that we weren’t incinerated.”

“But The Wretched…” The Dag began.

“Are very sick, yes. As are many of the warboys. We weren’t quite far enough to escape the effects completely.”

“No, I meant the other ones.” Capable said before they got too off track. “There had to be more than the United States, Russia, Iran, and here. What happened to them?” Capable pronounced the names of the countries differently than Toast had been taught, Ruh-sah, Eye-ran.

“No one knows. We don’t have a way of contacting them. But with all of the missiles and strikes and bombs, they probably aren’t doing much better than we are.” The five of them were quiet after that. A few beats went by before Miss Giddy began wiping the writing off the slate. “Let’s move onto music, shall we?”

It turned out that the piano instrument they had spoken of the day before wasn’t stored in the black table, but was in fact the table itself. One simply had to lift a cover and a row of stark white buttons called keys were exposed, and you would plink along those to make music. Toast had allowed herself another moment of curiosity and lifted the lid of the thing so she could watch the strings and hammers move while Angharad played, only stopping when she made a mistake and Miss Giddy would gently correct her. The other girls took turns as well, but when Toast was approached she just shook her head and watched the mechanics. Capable seemed interested as well, and stealing a look at the inside of the piano was what caused most of her sour notes. Next was reading. They were all handed a copy of the same book, though with varying covers and stages of use. It was something called The Iliad, apparently a favorite of Immortan Joe that he specifically requested them to study. They would read a section of stanzas and then discuss it, though most of the time was spent on catching Toast up on the story. 

“So Agamemnon insulted Achilles by taking Briseis?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“And Briseis had no say?”

“...No. Women in Greece were treated like property.”

“Funny how some things don’t change.” 

-  
After that they were encouraged to choose something of their own to read, and they would for maybe fifteen minutes before they began to drift. Capable went back to the piano and The Dag followed, tapping the keys so Capable could observe and sometimes tinker. Ormala would read ahead in The Iliad until she had to lay down from the baby in her stomach kicking at her, but Angharad stayed reading. she would avoid violent books, opting instead for poetry. Toast went through the piles of books to pass the time and found the sequel to The Iliad, The Odyssey, and at first was barely interested until she read the summary. Odysseus had only been mentioned in The Iliad so far, but he was apparently important enough to be the main character in a story about coming home, and he faced many trials to make it. It resonated more than it should have. Her hair became flat like the doldrums and Immortan Joe loomed over her like Polyphemus. She only wished she could put out his own bloodshot eyes.

She tucked the book under her pillow. Taking it would surely be another jab at The Immortan, and she wanted to insult that inhuman bastard as much as she could. Also less importantly, she wanted to know how it ended. The rest of the day passed in what seemed like a breath, and after the evening meal the Immortan marched into the vault with his usual jerky stride. Whatever speech or laughter between the six of them was gone in an instant, and the wives were halfheartedly lined up by Miss Giddy before she took her leave to her own small quarters. The Immortan eyed each of them carefully, bringing a hand to the mask he wore as if stroking his chin. Toast had been ushered into a room as before, this time the far one so she could see the scene before her, and she could only watch, her skin crawling, as Immortan Joe leaned in and whispered something in Angharad’s ear, making her stiffen. His fingers traced her shoulder, but it was The Dag that he selected and took up to his den. She didn’t go easily, at first dragging her feet but then stopping entirely. 

“Dag.” He said. His voice was low and dangerous. “Come.” She didn’t reply but she didn’t move either, just stared at him. Toast couldn’t see the faces of the other three, but they were as still as stone. “Dag.” She didn’t waver.

A look of fury crossed his face and the room held a collective breath. With a sharp jerk he brought The Dag to the ground, her knees hitting the stone with a loud smack. She grunted, struggled to pull away, her feet finding no purchase as she was pulled even farther until her free hand was keeping her upright and her fingers sought something to hold onto, something to pull away with, but all she found was books and she couldn’t even get a good grip on them when she was being pulled farther and farther up the stairs.

“No!” She finally shouted when her knees hit the steps, but she wasn’t even humored by The Immortan as he dragged her. “I said-”

“That’s enough from you.” He commanded, and she just laughed.

“Smeg! You’re an old Smeg! Sick old man with your mates and your-”

“Silence!” He roared, and his hand came down on her face. She cried out and pulled with all of her might, but she was only a wisp of a thing against a man who had maimed, who had killed, and could very well do the same to her with an infuriated barrage of fists. He pulled her up so that she was at his feet, and he held her down with one hand and hit her with the other. The Dag shrieked through her teeth and tried to kick him away, but he just grabbed her calf in one strong arm and beat at her thigh until she was choking on tears. Bruises were forming everywhere, but that one was a deep and sickening purple already.

“Immortan!” Angharad finally cried out, and she went to the bottom of the stairs, tripping in her hurry and appearing to him on her knees. Toast could see her face, streaked with tears, looking up at them. “Please! No more!”

There was a long silence, but with a final growl he tangled his fingers in The Dag’s hair and dragged her up the remaining steps. She pushed at his hands, kicked her feet, but the attempts were weak, and she was thrown into the darkness of the den. Capable began to sob and Angharad ran to her side, but Ormala rapidly went the other way and entered the room, glaring at Toast who was crouched in the doorway, eyes wide from what she had seen. 

“That’s what happens when you defy him.” Ormala spat. “That’s what…” Her hands went to her belly and her eyes became far away. “That’s what happens.” Toast saw the glassiness in her gaze and looked away. She could still hear The Immortan and The Dag fighting, though there were tears now as he tore her apart. 

“I can’t stay here.” Toast snatched the blankets from the beds and began furiously tying them. “Not with that thing.”

Ormala scoffed bitterly but made no move to stop her. “You know nothing. Absolutely nothing.”


	4. Scorched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, just wanted to say thank you for sticking with this story so far, I'm having a lot of fun writing it and I hope you're enjoying it as well, and that I'm doing Toast's character justice.  
> Major warnings ahead for this chapter, there's a lot of self-harm, fighting, blood, death, and body horror ahead.

The only duty Toast had to perform the following morning was letting Miss Giddy take measurements for her wedding dress. She tried not to squirm as the measuring tape was wound around her chest, her middle, her hips, and all across her arms and legs until there couldn’t possibly be anything else to take note of, but Miss Giddy did and redid it anyway. “You can make a dress in a day?” The question was more to break the silence than anything.

“If I work nonstop, yes.” Miss Giddy replied. “That’s why we aren’t having lessons and you’ll be having cold meals today. I made sure they are good though, not old.”

“...Thank you.” Despite it all, Miss Giddy truly was trying to help, and Toast wanted to stop resenting her attentions so much, but it was no easy task when every one of her duties reminded her of The Immortan.

“You’re welcome dear.” She measured her shoulders one last time before stepping away. “All done. You can go now.” Toast nodded at her and padded to the stairs. Ormala and The Dag were still asleep, and trying to sleep the night before with Ormala in the room had been impossible. She ranted under her breath, but sometimes she would hear the wife spit out The Dag or Angharad’s name like rotten teeth. She had curled up and faced away from Toast for most of the night, but had once turned over to watch her rework the blankets into stronger and stronger knots. 

“I’ll tell The Immortan.” She had hissed, but when Toast didn’t acknowledge her she went quiet and turned back over. She may have even spotted a tear on Ormala’s face, but it could’ve just been moonlight.

But the other two seemed to be morning people. Angharad was at the window while Capable ate her breakfast. Angharad’s eyes were squinted, as if she was trying to see something far away. “Toast?” she eventually called, and because she had nothing better to do for the moment she walked over.

“What?”

“Is that where you’re going?” she didn’t look at her as she pointed to a canyon on the horizon, where a red sun dripped bright and bloody. 

Toast shook her head. “That’s where the Rock Riders live.”

“Then where?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you might tell Joe.”

Angharad’s head snapped to look at her, and Toast was jolted to see such anger on a face so clean and soft. Anger was not in the expressions they were allowed to have, the furrowed brow and set mouth were disobedience in their own right. “I would rather he tore me to pieces before I told him a thing.” Her voice was low and each word was measured enough that Toast knew she wasn’t lying. She said nothing, but looked away from Angharad’s dagger gaze, and several moments passed before she spoke again. “Take me with you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? I won’t slow you down, I can be quiet.”

“I said I can’t.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“I said-”

“But why-”

“Because you care too much.” 

That made Angharad stop, almost soften again as she leaned forward, like that would help her understand what Toast just said. “What?”

“If I brought you, I’d have to take Capable and The Dag and Ormala too. You care about them, you protect them even when it’s not safe for you. I can’t bring all four of you.” Toast felt fear grip her for the first time since she concocted this plan, the fear she willed away but was now crashing like a flood as she began to ramble. “I couldn’t sneak out of here, and even if we got out, my tribe is dying. We can’t take any more people, we don’t have any food for all I know, and I’m making them wait when they could be out scouting and feeding themselves. They couldn’t even clothe you properly, you’d burn to ashes, get sick and covered with mates, but you’d starve or die of thirst before that happened. You don’t know a thing about surviving out there, one of my brothers could be dead because I had to either choose food or him, none of you could make that choice because you care too. Damn. Much.” Her hands were tangled in her hair now and she hated the limp feeling between her fingers. “You’re better off here. You never have to choose between life and death, just what perfume you want Miss Giddy to put in your hair.”

Angharad laughed, actually laughed, and Toast could’ve hit her right in her white teeth. Do you think this is funny?”

“No.” She stopped, swallowed a lump in her throat. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You’ve only been here for two days, I shouldn’t have expected more.” She touched a lock of hair near the height of her cheekbone. She had worn her hair down the entire time Toast had been here, and always had it framing her face. It wasn’t something she had really noticed, for all of the women had long hair, but when Angharad moved that lock behind her ear with careful fingers she saw why. Thin white scars like the scattered ones on her arms. She had assumed the marks came from razor cuts or sheer clumsiness, but from the criss-crosses on her temple and cheek it was clear that they were self-inflicted. “We’ve been denied our humanity, our right to ourselves. We aren’t people anymore. So I do this. I don’t know why I feel like I have to, but I do it anyway. I think I want to ruin what he holds dearest to him.” She moved the hair back, looking over her shoulder as if he could’ve snuck up behind her. “Do you see now? It’s killing me. His hands, his breath, his eyes, and you’re leaving because you know it will kill you too. So I’m going to ask you one more time.” Angharad slowly reached out for Toast’s hand to hold. “Please. Take me with you.”

Toast searched her face for any lack of conviction, any doubt, but there was none, and she moved to take her open palm. Angharad would’ve gone that second if she could, but despite the strength and the scars there was still compassion, and that was a poison in the wasteland. Compassion made for second chances, it made you reach towards fire instead of putting it out. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” She snatched her hand away from Angharad’s and ran to the bedroom where Ormala was still sleeping. Guilt gnawed at her sternum and she had to stop herself from curling up into a ball like a child. It wasn’t fair and she knew that, but she could only escape if she was alone. The other four wouldn’t even be able to jump out the window, much less climb down, and she wouldn’t have their deaths on her shoulders.

Though if the rest felt the way Angharad did, she might be killing them anyway.

 

-

 

Joe was due in two hours.

He always arrived as the sun was setting, just in time for a few hours of music before he snatched up a wife and dragged her to his lair like he was taking meat to the slaughter. His day at the Citadel would be nearly finished, but not so much that he could drop his duties to come inspect them. His warboys would be weary and sluggish after the day of patrols, supply runs, and tending crops in the heat, so any party sent after her would be delayed. No other time was acceptable.

All that was left to take care of was Ormala. The other wives would let her go, pretend they had been too frightened to alert anyone or at least give her a good head start, but Ormala would run for Immortan Joe the second the glass broke. She didn’t want to hurt her with that baby about to be born any day now, so she needed to get her out of the room. 

“Dinner!” Miss Giddy called, and they gathered as usual. Miss Giddy handed each of them a bowl of vegetables with cold pieces of meat thrown in. The other girls ate as normal, Angharad only stealing glances at Toast every now and then, but Ormala wrinkled her sharp little nose.

“Miss Giddy, you know I can’t eat spinach. I get sick.” 

“Yes Ormala, my mistake.” She picked the leaves from her bowl and took them away. Toast stared at her bowl. So that was it. Morning sickness. 

“Capable,” Toast said suddenly, diverting her gaze to the wife. “You have something on your skirt.” Capable looked confused for a minute, but it changed to resentful when Ormala chimed in.

“Really Capable? Don’t you have any pride in your appearance?” 

“It’s just a smudge.”

“It’s disgraceful! You’re only asked to be clean and beautiful for The Immortan, and you can’t even do that.”

“Who asked you to say anything?!” While they bickered Toast scooted closer to Ormala. She slowly gathered the leaves from her own bowl and waited for Ormala to grip her utensil before she dropped them in with the quickness of a mouse. 

“I’m just saying that you should keep yourself hygienic.” She said with a note of finality, and she took an angry bite of her food, piercing most of the spinach leaves and shoveling them into her mouth while still giving Capable looks. She chewed maybe three times before the color drained from her face, and then she was running to the water closet door, banging on it with a trail of wet footprints leading up to her. Toast carefully positioned herself to dash while Miss Giddy came to Ormala’s aid, and she unlocked the door with shaking hands and followed her inside. The other girls went to the room near the window to block out the vomiting noises, but Toast was in action. She ran to the water closet and saw Miss Giddy rubbing Ormala’s back as she threw up into the bowl, and the keys shone from where Miss Giddy had dropped them in her hurry. Toast almost couldn’t believe her luck, and she mouthed an “I’m sorry” to her caretaker before slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside. she heard Miss Giddy shout in surprise, but when she began banging on the door Toast just ignored her and went to the room. She could only get three of the four blankets, but that would be enough to reach the canopy. As a last minute addition she tied white strips of cloth around her palms and the arch of her feet to protect them from the rock, and with the blankets in a pile next to her she seized the heavy black piano bench and lifted it as high as she could above her. Only now did the other wives see what was happening, and they crowded in the doorway and watched. Capable’s mouth hung open, The Dag was snickering, and Angharad’s nails scratched at her scars as she was unable to look away. Toast didn’t meet their eyes, and with a grunt she threw the metal bench at the pane of glass. It shattered instantly, glass scattering like marbles at her feet, and the bench silently tumbled through the air until a faint crunch of the thick wood paneling was heard. Next Toast jabbed a metal leg from one of their lesson chairs into the adjoining pane of glass until a small hole was broken through, and she tied one end of her rope to the metal skeleton of the window and gave it a few sharp tugs. The sun was about to go down. An hour and forty-five minutes. The wives were still staring and Angharad’s scratching had drawn blood that dripped in rivulets down the side of her face. Toast tied the other end to her wrist and backed herself to the empty windowpane. Ormala was shrieking from the closet, but Toast couldn’t hear her over the whistling wind and shrieking birds. Glass was beginning to dig into her feet and the sun warmed the back of her bare legs. Home. 

She jumped with her eyes closed, and for the moment of freefall sheer terror clawed at her. There was nothing but air and the rope in her hands for a long breath, what if she was wrong? What if the canopy didn’t hold? What if the warboy lifts were gone? She would go the way of the piano bench, a sick crunch of splinters. Her whole body tensed with the thought and she almost clawed at the rope, but then her fall was broken. When she opened her eyes she saw green and blooms holding her, though not steadily. Joe’s vanity got the best of him, and the plants that had been allowed to grow freely without trimmings and harvesters could hold her small body, though they were severely helped by the rope holding most of her weight. She could see the rope bridges that connected the mountains, warboy property, but none of them were within reach. The blankets had held fast to her wrist and were pulled completely taut. Toast thought she heard a seam pop, but chalked it up to her rushing mind. Carefully, she untied the rope but didn’t let go all at once, instead easing herself onto the canopy, and it still held if she stayed close to the roots. The air was thin and wailing up here, whipping her gauzy clothes in its gusts, and she bit her tongue as she looked down to see where the footholds of the rock were. The Wretched still looked like insects from that height, though slightly larger ones, like beetles instead of ants. It seemed no one had noticed her, but where the pieces of the bench might have been was only sand, so they must have been used to things being tossed from the fortress. The ground was so far away it didn’t even look hard, just like tan cloth spread out across the landscape, which was washed in red setting sunlight. Toast went back to her task and held onto the stems so thick they could almost count as branches as she slowly moved off of the canopy. She didn’t let go even minutes after her clothed feet were safely resting on two juts of rock. This was the real moment of truth, when she would see how much she had learned from climbing the shortest plateau countless times. One hand gripped the stone facade and then the other, her nails ached from how they dug for purchase where there was no yield. Huffing mostly to regulate her breathing she took a small step downward and found nothing, and then dared to bend her opposite knee. There was a tiny foothold there so she placed her weight on it, and when it held she moved the rest of herself downward. The process was tedious, and she knew that it would take too long for her scale down this way. Joe would be at the vault in an hour and twenty minutes, and climbing down this mountain could’ve taken hours, and she would be exhausted before she was two-thirds down. There was always the option of the bridges, but when she crossed them, where would that leave her? A whole new set of caverns and rooms she didn’t have the faintest clue about at best, and nothing but warboys and plants at worst. There had to be a better way, and she searched frantically for it.

Out of the corner of her eye something dangled. Turning to see it, the object turned out to be a large hook, the kind meant for lifting heavy loads that probably couldn’t be woven through the thin tunnels. If there was a hook there was a door. Taking shuffling steps she inched towards the hook, and in what seemed like forever she managed to reach it. Indeed there was a door, heavy cast iron with all sorts of bolts. It was likely locked, but what choice did she have? To her surprise it swung open, revealing a tunnel lit by torches. The electric lights must’ve been restricted to the main tunnels. Her muscles sung with gratitude when she was on solid ground, but now she knew that she was in more danger of being spotted than ever. The only only thing she could cover was the stark white of her clothes with the soot on the walls, and she smeared it into the fabric before moving on. She could hear voices to her left along with a flickering red light, so she went right. It only got darker from there as it sloped downwards, and Toast wondered if maybe she had wandered into some abandoned segment of the Citadel, and then began wondering why it had been abandoned. Was it dangerous? Diseased? No, that was ridiculous, everyone was diseased, no one would run from-

Her thoughts were cut off when her foot met flesh. A whine wheedled from the sleeping person, and in the dark Toast could just see the outline roll over. War pups. Dozens and dozens of them, all sleeping in various piles around the chamber. An older warboy, their caretaker no doubt, snored in the corner. Toast had to strain her eyes to see the children and avoid their careless limbs and painted heads in the pitch black, sometimes failing and pressing a foot onto someone’s calf or fingers, which would make them complain sleepily or swat at her. By the time she got through the room she had been smacked, kicked, and even bitten once, but not a single pup had been roused from slumber. She finally exhaled when she was free from that trial, at least the bite hadn’t broken skin. She had to get to the main tunnel, she knew her way out from there, but she would be seen and chased before she could even step onto the drawbridge. There had to be something nearby she could use to look Wretched, a ragged cloak or dress, but so far there was nothing but the occasional room full of war pups she had to sneak through. It seemed to take days before she saw the light of another torch, but shadows of men danced on the walls. She pressed herself against the corridor and listened carefully.

“Gotta bunch a’ new ones for the next pack coming up. They’re getting too gangled for their old ones, only coming t’the knees.”

“We need some replacements yaknow, can’t give ‘em all to the lil’ ‘uns.”

“Let’s sort it tomorrow. Spent all day stitchin’.” 

“Fine. We got enough clay?”

“In the side room. Got some disorderlies mixin’ it.” The pair walked away talking about who was witnessed that day, and Toast snuck into the room. Pants, work gloves, scarves, boots, goggles, and even a few jackets, warboy attire. So these were their stock rooms, and War Pups definitely counted as stock. She may not be able to look wretched, but it wasn’t her only option. She waited for their voices to fade completely before she began to rifle through the piles of clothes, and she slipped into the heavy black pants with the chains and pockets. Next came a jacket to hide her chest and a scarf as an impromptu bandana to cover her hair that she wove into a bun, and then another to hide her nose and mouth. The boots came last, and she had to wear small ones that would’ve probably gone to a pup. There was no glass to check her disguise in, so she just had to hope it worked as she went the same way the two warboys had. 

She held her breath when she entered the room where the warboy clay was mixed with water. A few naked warboys churned it with their bare feet, holding onto the wall or each other for support. Their own clay was splotchy from sweat, and they didn’t even look up as Toast entered and scooped up a handful. She even lingered as she smeared it onto herself, starting with her face and even going inside the jacket and a bit under the hem of her pants to make sure none of her brown skin showed through, and still none of them even acknowledged her. She smeared black rings around her eyes with the soot from the torches, and silently she left them to their task and continued on through the tunnels.

Joe would be at the vault in a half hour, so she had to hurry. The flaming skull motifs on the walls were a faded white, a color she hadn’t seen so far. She could hear voices again and had to steel herself to look natural and walk like a man. How did Swimm walk? No, his gait wasn’t like the warboys, he didn’t peacock around with his muscles tense like he was going to pounce at any minute. Long strides, squared shoulders, eyes straight ahead, that’s how warboys walked. More of more them appeared, leaning in doorways, stretched over flat planes of rock, mostly silent but sometimes fighting or even the occasional laughter as two warboys joked and jabbed each other’s ribs with their elbows until it predictably escalated into more fighting, mostly even-tempered. So this was how they passed the time. No one took any notice of her despite being significantly more clothed than the rest of them, in fact a few of them avoided her as she walked past. Maybe it was a status symbol? She couldn’t know for sure. This tunnel seemed to go on even farther than the war pup storage, and sometimes she could spy rows and rows of hammocks hanging in the adjacent rooms. When two warboys fought viciously near her feet she had to fight her instinct to skirt around the conflict in a wide circle and just plowed through, kicking one of their heads in the process and relishing the feeling. The one she kicked attributed it to his opponent and paid no attention to her, which suited her just fine since he was much larger. The air was dense from the exhales and body heat of the troops, and a few smeared clay from tins onto their skin where it would run. The walls were dark from torches that illuminated their faces and scars like grinning skulls, many with bloodied teeth. Most of them towered over her with the exception of a few younger ones, newly promoted pups who were even quicker to anger than their older counterparts, who tried to scrap with anyone who looked at them for two long but would end up with a warboy fist to his chest. One was in such a conundrum right then, a young boy with a more seasoned brother in arms grinding his broken nose into the stone, leaving a blood smear so dark it almost looked black. Warboys had gathered around the pair, cheering and laughing so loudly that it reverberated off the cavern walls. The young one spat out blood, shouted obscenities with tears on the edge of his voice which made his tormentors laugh even harder, some even landing kicks to his trapped body. Toast didn’t even realize she stopped walking until a warboy pushed past her with his shoulder to get a better look. She bit her cheek as the man let his victim get onto his elbows, then slammed his face back to the ground. The young one screeched and struggled, and the others laughed until one of his small boots hit his attacker in his broad back. The blow knocked the wind out of him and the other one squirmed from under him, but instead of running he tackled his attacker and began hitting his face with bandaged fists that were still thin with youth. The strikes were fast enough that the older man coudn’t find a window to fight back, and soon his face was hidden by blood and bruises and he lie still. The young one stood up, pressing a hand to his heaving chest, and his fellows roared and embraced him with shoves and hands rubbed roughly against his skull. They began kicking the fallen man, but he could only whimper and flinch as they beat him with their steel-toed workboots. 

“Mediocre!” One shouted, and they began to all shout it as they broke bone and skin. Toast felt bile rise in her throat and pushed past the spectacle. She could hear the man gasping for air long after they were out of earshot. Up ahead was a vaulted room with air vents to the outside drilled into the wall, so red sunlight beamed in. Before her eyes adjusted all she heard was mechanical clanking, but when she could see in the light what laid before her was far worse than the fight she witnessed. There was a bench carved into the wall, and there sat dozens of warboys. Some were getting stitched up, others were motionless, the mates on their bodies gigantic and an angry shade of scarlet or nauseous purple. But even worse were the ones who were alive, who sat there either looking annoyed or using all of their strength to breathe while people hung from ceiling by their ankles with rubber tubing connecting them to the pale men. Their blood was draining into the warboys, their faces were contorted in pain or motionless and lacking color. From the other end of the hallway came a shrill scream that was cut off in its height, and all around war pups poked and prodded at the donors or the corpses, looking through their pockets or sticking fingers in their mouths until they gagged. 

Toast had seen horrors. She had seen Immortan Joe’s inhuman eyes peering over those horse teeth as he beat The Dag until she had a limp, she had seen Chell’s pierced shoulder gush all over himself and the car he hung from, she had seen her tribe’s babies snatched from their parents arms by Buzzards when they attacked in the night, and the next day those babies’ mothers abducted by Rock Riders when they tried to pass through the canyon, but none of it could’ve prepared her for the infirmary. The warboys paid no mind as they were surrounded by groans and sobs, some of them even rolled their eyes or swatted at them when they got too noisy. 

“Hey!” A hand snapped in front of her face, bringing her out of her shock. It was the Organic Mechanic, sore glistening in the light. “Warboy! You sick?”

Toast quickly shook her head and tried to calm down her beating heart with shallow, subtle breaths. He didn’t recognize her, the paint was more effective than she could’ve ever hoped.

“Then what the hell are you doing here? We don’t have any spare bloodbags for you t’kick around, if that’s what you came to ask about.” Toast played along and nodded. The Organic Mechanic huffed.

“Well since you’re here anyway, help me get that’un out of her cage. She has a date with Incisor over here.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of a warboy who was currently hacking violently on the bench. Toast wanted to say no, wanted to scream, but she just nodded again and followed him. The floor was sticky under her boots. “Ya don’t talk much. Mute?” Another nod. “Happens a lot lately. Nothin’ I can do.” He handed her a long pole with a hook on the end and pointed up at a steel cage hanging from the ceiling. In it was a woman older than her, maybe forty, who shrieked in terror from a toothless mouth. “Shut up!” He banged his pole against the cage. “I said shut the fuck up! Ya want pain? I’ll give ya pain!” That made her quiet down somewhat, but she pressed herself against the walls of the cage so that when Toast was directed to pry the bottom open, she was still suspended in air. The Organic Mechanic groaned in annoyance and jabbed the hook of his pole into her back until she was in too much pain to keep holding on and she fell, hanging vertically while her feet were suspended by a chain. She started sobbing, but was ignored as the Organic Mechanic pierced her with the tubing, then did the same to Incisor. He sighed as the blood began to flow, and the Mechanic patted Incisor’s mate-covered shoulder before walking off to tend to one of his other patients. 

Toast waited until he was out of sight to run. She had no idea where she was going, but she couldn’t stand another minute in that hell. Ahead was another vented room, but this one held a massive rack of steering wheels shaped into some strange idol. A cluster of warboys held their hands above their heads in the same salute they gave Immortan Joe, and they mumbled phrases over and over in a whisper. There was no exit to this room, so Toast went back to the infirmary only to duck into the nearest tunnel. Her legs were shaking but she wouldn’t stop moving until she couldn’t hear the shrieks and choking anymore, not even when she was out of breath. She only stopped to collect her racing thoughts when she saw a familiar orange sigel on the wall, which meant she was near the guzzoline room. The smell hit her senses before she was anywhere near the chamber, and she passed through the room unnoticed as a warboy marked a slate piece while he counted the gallons. It was almost like she couldn’t remember what clean air tasted like, and her head ached with the fumes long after the stench faded, which along with the tacky feeling of the clay made her skin itch all over and her teeth grind. She had no idea how much time had passed, for all she knew The Immortan was storming the halls for her, and remembering her goal made her mind clear and focused again. She wasn’t there to take a tour of the Citadel, but to return home, and she finally knew where she was, so freedom was a hair-breadth away. A sliver of light appeared before her, and she found herself half-stumbling through an archway. She blinked as the last piece of sun dipped below the horizon, and dusk was falling faster than a stone. 

No time to take in the sight. The drawbridge was manned by a fleet of Wretched and a few warboys scattered about, but the only person on the deck that mattered was the tiny form of Corpus Colossus perched in his seat at the controls. A warboy with barely any clay fed him sips of milk from a glass as he surveyed the Wretched below them. There was dust cloud rumbling in the distance, and when Colossus motioned for his spyglass the attendant handed it to him. 

“Last patrol of the day.” He grunted. “Lower the bridge in five.” 

“Lower the bridge in five!” The attendant repeated to the Wretched and their overseers. 

Toast couldn’t believe her luck. She had gotten there just in time. The only thing left to do was wait. She stepped into the crowd of warboys and did her best to blend. Five minutes had never taken so long. She could already feel the fingers of her family tangled up with her own, hear their jubilant voices, their breath against her temples. This nightmare would disintegrate at the sight of their smiles, and the kisses they pressed to her cheeks would never be sweeter. She would have Swimm shave her lifeless hair away so she could start anew, and then she would rest her head in his lap while he spoke of the memories they had on this plateau, the births and deaths that rolled over one another as the years tumbled by. Big Brother and Little Sister, protecting and guiding as it was meant to be.

An alarm sounded. 

Before it was even over Immortan Joe’s voice came over his microphone, as booming and terrible as the God he claimed to be. “Attention! Toast, my bride to be, has been taken from her sanctuary! Her kidnapper even dared to attack my other wives, and no punishment could equal what he’s done! The Citadel is on full lockdown, and my warboys will be searching you and your homes for my bride. Whoever brings the criminal to me will be rewarded with my favor!” The microphone clicked off, but the drawbridge was already lowering. The warboys were shouting to one another and scattered, some to look within the Citadel and others rushing to the platform to search the Wretched, barely leaving enough room for the patrol to return. A deep rumble came from the Citadel, and Toast recognized it as the revving of many engines. They wouldn’t content themselves with this patch of land, they would search far and wide. She snapped to action and joined the warboys on the platform, she needed to be ahead of everyone if she wanted to get away and warn her family of the coming storm. They were sitting ducks on that plateau, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Her pulse hammered at her skin with every wasted moment the bridge spent lowering to the ground, and it hadn’t even fully reached the sand before she went leaping from it to the ground. The warboys whooped and followed suit, swarming the defenseless Wretched with snarls and mocking laughter. Children cried out and ran to their parents as their meager homes and belongings were torn to pieces by the onslaught, and people who tried to defend their property were knocked aside. Toast weaved through the mob, dodging warboys and Wretched alike. The scarf around her mouth was ripped away by a Wretched man trying to stop her from what he thought was an attack, but it barely slowed her down. She jumped over those who were pushed to the ground without breaking her sprint, repeating the word “home” over and over to herself like a prayer. Someone’s tent had caught fire and she ducked from the sparks, but when she looked back up she was running straight into a warboy. 

“Nice jacket.” He said, and he looked like he wanted a fight. A fierce growl burst from between her teeth. She didn’t have time for his show of force, and before he could even lay a hand on her she roared and shoved him aside with her shoulder, her height being perfect to hit him in the sternum. He shouted in pain and snarled at her, and one of his huge hands clutched a chain on her pants. Toast fell to the ground and was pulled back towards him, but she laid a kick to his face. He was relentless, tugging on the chains and pockets, and soon she was under him and he was hissing in her face. 

“Smeg!” She snapped, and he laughed and tore the scarf from her head. Her black hair tumbled out and his eyes widened in shock, but before he could call out Toast jabbed her thumb into his bloodshot eye. He shrieked in agony and held his bleeding face, and Toast grabbed his hand and bent the fingers backward until they cracked and wouldn’t move back into place. Another scream, but she smothered it with her scarf, shoving it down his throat until he was choking and unable to pull it out with his broken fingers. He fell limp and she wriggled away, her hair flying out behind her. She had never fought someone hand to hand, Bask would be proud.

Just as she broke from the crowd and ran beyond the mountains, vehicles were being released from the Citadel, first motorcycles but soon cars and trucks followed suit. They had to wade through the chaos so she had a few precious minutes to run, and she pushed herself even though it already felt like her chest was about to burst. The shortest plateau was a shapeless black mass in the blue night, but she wouldn’t lose sight of it, she was too determined. Home. Swimm. Sou. Bask. Chell. Alo. Lem. Greye. The dawn on her face. Cold wind. 

 

-

 

No pursuit vehicle had found her nearly fifteen minutes later. Her pace made the trip shorter, and the plateau was before her in all of its dusty familiarity. Only when Toast reached the foot did she stop. Her lungs felt like they had been drenched in guzzoline and lit aflame, the breaths she took were both sweet relief and terrible agony. Thirst bristled against her throat, black spots swirled across her vision and she closed her eyes until they went away. Water first, then greetings. Her feet were unsteady as she got back onto them, and she cupped her hands around her mouth and managed a weak whistle. 

A dark face immediately appeared over the edge of the plateau and whistled the next part of the signal. Toast finished the exchange with the last few notes, and with that the person was tied to a piece of rope and lowered down to her level. Toast could’ve jumped for joy if she had the strength, but Swimm needed no such displays. The look on his face was so tender Toast thought she would say something, but she just put her arms around his neck. He took a shaky breath and buried his face in her shoulder, wrapping his strong arms around her just as she imagined he would. 

“Toast.” He said into her collarbone. It took him a moment to be able to speak again. “We were afraid you weren’t coming. I was afraid-”

“No.” She said hoarsely. “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I know but...Toast. I couldn’t tell anyone how afraid I was. I had to be stronger than ever. And so did you. Are you hurt?”

“Just my head.” She pulled back and raised her new hair to her cheek. “You need to shave it off for me, agreed?”

He finally smiled, and he leaned to kiss her forehead. “Agreed.” With that he tugged on the rope and they were hoisted up the side of the rock. Swimm put her on solid ground first, and she was swept up into a flurry of embraces before he could even pull himself over the edge. 

“Toast!”

“You’re like a pale man!”

“What happened to you?”

“I’m fine, really, it’s clay.” Toast couldn’t stop smiling as her family surrounded her. Lem ran up and threw his arms around her legs. 

“Toast! I missed you!”

“I missed you too, so much.” She bent down to hug him, but only for a moment before she found Sou smoothing her brow as she always had. Toast swallowed tears as she stood up to meet the old woman’s eyes.

“Oh Toast, my strong girl. You’re not hurt?”

“No Mama, I’m not hurt. I have so much to tell you when we’re far away and safe.” Toast kissed her cheek. and over her shoulder came Bask.

“Looks like you got yourself back like a grown girl, huh?” Bask’s words seemed harsh, but the tears in her eyes spoke otherwise. She still had Toast’s braids in her hair.

“Didn’t need a compass or anything.” Bask pulled her into her arms, and her shoulders shook with every breath.

“Should’ve went after you, sister.”

“It’s okay. I’m here now.” Bask smiled again and pulled away, wiping her eyes. “You’re never going out of my sight again, you understand? I’m a hawk, you’re my mouse. Gonna keep you safe.”

“I understand, but we need to move. Where’s Chell?”

“Over here.” Toast was already relieved that he was there at all, and a humongous guilt was lifted from her spine. Toast was led to the back of the group where Chell was standing. He looked a little pale, a little gaunt, but it was miracle he was alive and uninfected. However, he had paid a price. Where his arm had been was only a pinned up sleeve, and Toast didn’t want to imagine the carnage under his shirt.

“Chell.” She said to test the waters. He had every right to hate her after what she had done, what pain she had put him through and would now be putting him through for the rest of his life, but when she braced herself for scorn she only heard a low laugh.

“Good to have you back Toast.” 

“Y-You don’t-”

“No. You were doing the right thing. You were thinking about everyone else. I understand.” He finally smiled brightly like he used to. “Besides, we got a lone Rock Rider. He had one of those mechanical legs, and Greye is fixing it up into an arm for me. You didn’t break me beyond repair sister.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m alive aren’t I? C’mon, you said we need to move?”

The light of forgiveness was extinguished by reality. “They’re looking for me.”

“The pale men?”

“Yes. They’re called warboys apparently. They’re desperate and they kill for sport. Monsters, all of them, especially their leader.”

“This sounds interesting.” Swimm’s voice behind her made her jump. “But if they’re really looking we can’t waste any time. Bask, start taking down the tent. Chell, get everyone in on that. We need them down now. Toast,” He hesitated. “They took your bike. Ride with me?”

“Absolutely. “What can I do now?”

“Keep a lookout, drink some water.”

“That’s it?”

“You’re tired, you ran all the way here didn’t you?”

“...Yes.”

“Then you’re on lookout duty.” He was gone, giving orders and tying up pieces of their shelter. Everyone was working, packing up belongings and fastening it to the backs of their bikes, all while Toast started straight out into the night. She didn’t see any vehicles just yet, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t creeping up. The bikes were already being lowered with their riders astride them, and the engines were brought to life as they waited below. Lem waved to her before his mother placed him on her bike, and the two of them were brought to the ground by Swimm and Bask. 

“I’ll climb, ready?” Swimm asked Bask, and she must’ve nodded because there was no reply. When Toast looked back It was just her and Swimm. “Come on Toast.”

“I want to climb with you like before.” Toast said as she walked over. “I know I’m tired but I won’t fall.” She grinned cockily. “I climbed down from that mountain over there after all.”

“You’re definitely telling me about your little misadventure later.” Swimm said with affection. “But right now I’m lowering you.”

“Not a chance.”

“You aren’t budging, are you?”

“No.”

“Let’s go then.” They each wrapped an end of the rope around their waists, then carefully but with practiced movements began to climb down. Toast knew where each foothold and crag was on this plateau and Swimm was just as familiar. The darkness made it a little cumbersome, but the feeling of climbing alongside him again made it worthwhile. 

“We need to be far away from here. A whole new place. We should never come back.”

“There’s only so many places we can go.”

“I know, but the farther the better. Their leader is a madman through and through.”

“I believe you, but for now we just need to be somewhere even they won’t go.”

“Not the badlands.”

“No. Possibly the canyon. On the outside that is.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“It’s better than the sunken city, and certainly better than those-” A clatter of metal stopped him, and they only had time to look at each other before the explosion sounded off. “Down! Now!” They scrambled down as fast as they could, the screams of the tribe at their backs, but in their hurry Swimm slipped. They didn’t fall far but they fell hard, and Toast gasped for the air that had been knocked out of her. Swimm untied the rope and ran to the bikes that were on fire. Toast recognized the screams as Sou’s and sprung to action. 

“Mama!” She called out, but all she saw were flames. No time to see her, Swimm was already there, Toast instead snatched a rifle from the nearest pack and went to the edge of their formation. There was a warboy pursuit vehicle decked with grenade-tipped spears, and the two warboys hanging off of it sneered and whooped. The one standing on a raised platform in the back picked up another spear and took aim, but Toast fired before he could throw it. The first bullet hit him in the chest, but the second one went right through his skull. He slumped over and the grenade clattered to the ground without going off, but when the vehicle swerved back for a chance to ram the tribe it ran over the spear and exploded, flipping over and rolling down the neighboring dune. “Who’s hurt?” Toast called, but no answer came when two more cars caught up to them.

“Get the lancers!” Toast called to those who had guns and were aiming. Bask and Swimm were among them while Chell and Greye pulled the wounded from the line of fire. A crack of gunfire sounded off from the warboys and two of the tribesmen fell to the ground. 

“Valhalla!” One warboy shouted before turning his car and charging at them. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way they could’ve snuck up that quietly, even if they had just been crawling along the sand. Toast would’ve seen them, wouldn’t she? There was no time to speculate. Another spear was thrown and the ground exploded behind her, sending her to the dirt. A steady ringing was all she could hear, but still she forced herself to her feet and fired again, hitting another lancer. Three more lancers from three more cars fell, but more just kept coming. The drivers that were shot made sure they died with their foot on the pedal, and twice they hit the plateau, scattering flaming wreckage all around. The first sound Toast could hear were her the screams of her family as they dodged debris and grenades, then orders from Swimm to get behind the markspeople. A grenade hit another bike and it was engulfed in a fireball, and Toast shot at the source of the spear, but no warboys fell. She had maybe seven more bullets in the bag that had been tied to the barrel of the rifle, she had to make each one count. Bask was positioned behind a crop of rock and aimed over it, hitting a driver that spun the wheel so his vehicle fell to its side and was nothing but a fiery shell. “Witness!” Several warboys roared, saluting, and they were shot immediately while distracted.

“We’re getting boxed in!” Toast shouted to Swimm over the fighting. “We need to get who we can and run!” 

“There are four bikes left!” He replied.” Not enough room for the wounded!”

“Swimm we-”

“Immortan!” A warboy pointed and Toast’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t be. 

A black truck with the body of another of its model fixed atop it ground to the scene. Even in the dark Toast could see that visage, those teeth, that mane. “No. No. No!” She screamed, and she aimed for Immortan Joe’s skull. His window barely cracked and he barely noticed her, instead bringing Rictus to the stage. His overgrown son bellowed, holding a gun in each hand. No, a gun in one hand, a flamethrower in the other. 

“Rictus!” She shouted at him. He was obsessed with her, maybe he would listen. He saw her, but instead of pausing to listen he told his father to turn the car towards her. The headlights went on and she could see nothing but white for one terrifying second, but then the light drenched the carnage before her in bright, overexposed unreality. Alo was on the ground, unmoving. Lem’s mother was gunned down right at Toast’s feet, and Greye was slumped against a bike, but half of his head was somewhere else completely. “Swimm! Bask! Chell! Lem!” Toast could barely be heard over the demonic roar of The Immortan’s engine. At a loss, she aimed for The Immortan again, but the rifle jammed. She swore and ducked behind a rock barely big enough to hide her, and for a moment no screams of agony sounded off. 

A crunch of boots was on the ground then, followed by the shuffle of many others. Toast clutched the rifle as if it was her own child. She would be dead before she went back to him, she would fight until her bones cracked. “Toast.” That damned metallic voice said. “Toast, I’m here. You’re safe.” Then, quieter, “Round the survivors.”

Several warboys went searching through the wreckage and dragged out maybe five people who swore and struggled. “Toast, come to me.” It was a command, like she was dog, and Toast thought she would vomit. A gun cocked and her eyes went wide. “Come out, I know you’re frightened of these thugs, but we have them.”

Toast couldn’t help the bitter, brittle laugh. “They aren’t the thugs I’m frightened of.” She called out.

A pause. “Rictus, kill the boy.” Lem began to shriek and Toast scrambled out from behind the rock before she could think. Lem, Swimm, Bask, Sou, and Chell. Chell’s wound had reopened and he was fading in and out of consciousness, and a warboy had Lem by the hair with a gun to his temple.

“Don’t fucking touch him.” She said through clenched teeth.

“That doesn’t sound like my gentle bride.” 

“Don’t touch him _please_.”

“Better.” The gun was lowered and Lem started crying, but when Swimm bent to comfort him he was whipped with the butt of the pistol. 

“Don’t! Please, don’t hurt any of them.”

“Your kidnappers? I will destroy them.” Immortan Joe tangled his fingers in Bask’s hair and jerked her head back. She grimaced in pain, but didn’t struggle too much. “I will _eviscerate_ them.” 

“No! No. Immortan. They are my family. Please. They thought I was in danger.” It was better to play his game than have anyone else suffer. “Really, let them go. I’ll go back to you. They came for me as you did.”

“They’ve dressed you as a warboy.”

“I know. Please forgive them. Let them leave.” 

“I cannot.”

“He can’t!” Rictus chimed in, but his father slapped the back of his head. The motion, so small yet so brutal, made Toast snap.

“I’ll do anything! My Immortan, I’m _begging_ you, please find mercy.” The words were sick and wrong on her tongue. 

He paused, then motioned for Toast to come closer to him. She took slow, staggering steps, until she was standing before what was left of her tribe. Immortan Joe crossed behind her, snatching the rifle first, the ripping the jacket from her to reveal her sooty white garments. Next came the warboy pants which he cut away with a knife he kept on his belt, and he tore the remnants from her. “Much better, my love. It suits you better than dust and black.” He grabbed her by the bicep then, and she had no choice but to let him pull her around. He inspected her family kneeling on the ground before him, and he didn’t speak for another long moment.

“You know I cannot let them go.”

“Immortan-”

“Instead, I shall welcome them to the Citadel as my subjects. Look,” He pointed to Swimm. “An Imperator’s jaw, and here-” at Bask “A milk mother. And this boy,” pointing to Lem. “A war pup already. But these two…” He gestured to Sou and Chell. “Old and crippled. Of no use to anyone.”

“No Immortan, I need them, I love them, they’re my family-”

“I am your family now, as are the other wives. We are the ones you love from now on.” The last part was a dark order, and with a simple gesture the warboys took aim at the top of Chell and Sou’s spines. 

“No!”

The pistols fired and they fell forward. Bask screamed for her twin, folding over and letting the cries ring out into the desert, primal and full of grief. Tears ran silently down Swimm’s cheeks and Lem was sobbing, but Toast was silent, mouth agape, unable to look away from the still figures. Her brother and mother’s blood mingled in the sand. 

“You will understand.” Immortan Joe said plainly. “Soon.”


	5. Submersed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the really late update everyone! College has been kicking my ass lately.  
> Warnings ahead for blood, rape mentions, suicide attempt, and discussions of miscarriage and child death.

_"How is she?" Swimm's voice broke through the haze of fever, but when Toast tried to turn her head to see him it felt like spinning a rusty bike wheel. In the darkness of the tent she could see the faint line of embers as the mint leaves burned and smoked inside the bowl he was holding. He looked frightened, weariness and worry on his young face. Toast's attempt to speak came out as only a groan, and when she reached to comfort him his eyes went wide and he nearly dropped the leaves._

_“The same.” Toast had forgotten Sou was next to her, and that she was beckoning Swimm closer. He walked over and kneeled at her other side, and Sou wafted the smoke towards Toast in a practiced motion. In the dark, her greying halo of hair almost seemed to blend with the haze, her and Swimm’s faces the only anchors in the apparition. A smile appeared on Sou’s face, but not a happy one. She was worried, Toast was making her worry, the thought made her head spin even more. How could she be doing this, how could she be such a burden, they couldn’t just stay in buzzard territory, or had they moved? She remembered stars, or was that just the light in Sou and Swimm’s eyes? Was that the moon or a fraying patch in the tent? Lips were against her forehead, no. They’ll get sick too, they’ll-_

_“Shh, my strong girl. You need to relax, let the sweat take your fever away.” Sou’s voice was against her temple, and her breath brought a piece of reality back. “Sleep, we will be here. Did Swimm tell you? Alo turned seven today. We gave her fresh bread and her first knife. It’s just a small thing, don’t worry, barely cuts rope, but she loves it. She asks about you a lot, she looks up to you quite a bit…” Sou knew that Toast never felt easy in silence, and the soft canter of her tone was lulling Toast to sleep already. “Shhh...I will be here…”_

But she wasn’t.

Toast was currently in the arms of the man she loathed most, Immortan Joe. Her feet were still stained bloody like the ground Chell and Sou had fallen on. Their bodies had been left along with the rest, their homes and belongings scavenged by warboys until nothing remained but corpses and sand. Joe oversaw it all, making them hand over the most important items like food and guns to their Imperators, and the few valuables: belt buckles, jewelry, bright scraps of cloth, were made into a measly pile in the back of Immortan Joe’s vehicle, something he affectionately called the Gigahorse. Rictus took one of the rings that belonged to Greye and fixed it over his pinky finger and Toast could’ve screamed, could’ve bit that finger right off, but she was still numb, and only stared at his hand until Joe pulled her to watch another member of her family be robbed. Alo’s tiny knife was tested on a warboy’s finger and when it barely cut, it was tossed aside with a grunt. Toast watched it hit the sand, watched as the boot of another warboy ground it out of sight. No matter how much she told herself to pull away from Joe and pick it up before it was lost, she couldn’t move. She hadn’t even greeted Alo properly when she came back. The girl had a bandage on her face from where the Buzzard car grazed her, but it had been torn away and her wounds reopened in the fight so Toast could only recognize her by the braids Bask had wove into her hair. She looked like she could’ve been sleeping, save for the blood, except Toast knew better. Toast had watched her mother rock her to sleep, had checked on them countless times in her night rounds, Alo clung to the side of whoever was next to her, she never sprawled out on her stomach. 

“Load them up, there’s nothing left.” The Immortan announced, pointing to the survivors. Swimm had pulled Lem and Bask into his arms, forcing a glare to any of Joe’s fleet that dared look at them too long, but Toast could see the cracks in his resolve, just how badly he wanted to break down, but couldn’t with the warboys jeering at him every chance they got. 

“Mediocre!”

“No one wins against our Immortan!”

“Blood bags! Gonna be blood bags!”

“Got what was coming to ya, taking Immortan’s things!”

Swimm just stared them down silently and kept Lem from turning and seeing those cackling, skeletal faces. Toast wanted to tell him it was no use, that he couldn’t protect him for more than a few hours, but how could she?

"C'mere." Rictus growled at them, and he grabbed Bask by the arm.

"Let go of me." Toast had never seen her face hold so much hatred, never heard her voice so colored with loathing. She braced her feet against the ground, not taking her eyes off Rictus. 

He just laughed and pulled again, and this time Swimm moved to help her, but when his hand met her shoulder she shook it off. "Hold Lem." She hissed, but still Swimm didn't move.

"Bask." He said, and it was cautious.

"Swimm." 

"Rictus." The brute said mockingly, and he swooped down and held her by the waist, hoisting her up like she was nothing. Immediately she was kicking, swearing, but he just laughed again and tossed her to a group of warboys with chains. Toast instinctively tried to run to her aid, Bask's cries of pain and the scrambling hands of the warboys setting fire to her nerves again and rousing her from the numbness. 

"Smegs! Don't touch her!" But Joe's hold on her arm tightened and she only ground up sand as she pulled against him. Lem shrieked when another warboy tore him from Swimm's arms, and before Swimm could stop that pale drone he was wrestled to the ground by three more. chains were fastened around the three of them in the same manner she had been trussed up in before.

"Toast!" Lem cried over the victorious warboy chatter. "Toast!" 

"Lem!" She and Swimm had spoken at the same time, and Lem was thrown into the bed of a truck. He shouted something about his head, but Toast could barely hear over the sound of the engines revving up. Swimm was tossed in after him, but Rictus dragged Bask to the Gigahorse by her ankles, as if he was bringing home a fresh kill. She grasped at the ground with her bound hands, tried to dig her elbows into it, but she found no purchase.

"In the back." Joe ordered him, and he grunted in reply before obeying. Toast couldn't help but be relieved, at least no one was left on their own. The Immortan pulled Toast into the vehicle and immediately she turned to the backseat where Bask was lying, and in her sister's eyes she saw tears pricking. 

"Toast-"

"God, Bask, I shouldn't have come back."

"Wait-"

"I've killed them all."

"Stop." The tears were flowing freely now. "You're all I have now. I'm your hawk, you're my mouse. You're not leaving my sight."

"We're going to different places in the Citadel."

"I said you're not-"

"Silence." Immortan Joe barked, and the Gigahorse roared to life and began its journey back to its den.

Toast stole looks back at Bask whenever she could, and her eyes glistened in the faint light that flickered from the head and taillights of the war party. There was only one way they could be together, and it would only work if she treaded carefully. The Wretched were all as still as mice and they drove past, and the tiny shelters Toast had seen on her way out had been thoroughly smashed by the warboys. No one even dared to light a fire. When Toast looked up to the glass cage she would be returning to, she could already a dozen or so warboys working on various bridges and pulleys despite the lack of light. They stuck out as little white specks against the navy sky, hacking away at the greenery she had used to escape. The glass had been replaced, and undoubtedly the wives were being kept from sight by Miss Giddy in one of their rooms. Her heart sank as shrubs and vines tumbled down the side of the cliff into the dark of the night. War drums were sounding, celebrating the success of the mission, and as the drawbridge lowered Toast stared at her hands to avoid the celebratory cheers of warboys and pups. Cries of “Immortan!” sounded off by the hundreds, so deafening that Toast couldn’t hear herself think, not that she could come up with anything but the endless mantra of “They’re dead. They’re all dead because of me. I shouldn’t have went back. It’s all my fault-”

“Stop mumbling.” The Immortan interrupted, and she hadn’t even realized she had been speaking out loud. “I’m taking you to the vault, you won’t be seen by them like this.” He gestured to the white and black pigments that were still streaked across her body. 

“What about my family?”

“To their new quarters. The woman with the milk mothers, the men to the warboy nests.”

“Milk mothers…”

“Yes, breastmilk, for the children you will eventually bear and for our own sustenance.”

“She’s never been with child.” She may have scarred Bask’s legs, caused the death her twin, but she could do this one kindness. If she was going to be stuck here, they should be stuck together, and if that weren’t reason enough, once they found out she couldn’t give milk, she would likely be tossed with the Wretched, utterly alone.

“Barren.”

“No, never married.”

“...What are you proposing?”

“Marry us both.”

“She is deformed.”

“It doesn’t affect her legs any, they’re from a small incident from when we were children. And they heal more every day.”

His hand stroked the jawbone of his mask, but he said nothing, not even when they exited the Gigahorse and began trekking to the staircase, Rictus carrying Bask. When Toast looked back at Bask this time she had dried her tears, but she was staring at the Immortan with a stone cold expression. They passed through the archway into the room with the clear pool, and Colossus was waiting in his chair. 

"Get the Organic Mechanic." Joe ordered him, and his spoke to his attending Imperator, who then went off into the bowels of the Citadel. This was good, Toast thought to herself despite the ache in her stomach, she got her an inspection. Joe placed her by the wall so she couldn't try anything and circled Bask, looking her up and down from her position on the floor. Bask kept her chin high and her gaze straight ahead, even when he took a step back as the Organic Mechanic entered with his bloody carpet bag.

"Brought back another huh?" He seemed to like the look of her, judging by the way he licked the sore at his mouth. "Let's see." He cut the chains at her knees and the procedure went similarly to the one Toast had gone through, right down to slicing her garments away and throwing her rucksack to the warboys. 

"Fertile as Valhalla, boss." He reported with a grin as he looked between Bask's legs. "Look at that pelvis, the hips. Beggin' for babies." He took a deep breath of her scent which made her shudder, and finally he sat up. "She's clear."

"The scars?"

"Old, but not from birth." He grinned at Bask. "Dancin' naked 'round the fire?" 

"No." She spat, and she refused to give more.

"Too bad." He stood up. "Bask, right? Is prime. Warboy! Cut the rest of those chains!" His assistant nodded and the boltcutters did their work.

Immortan Joe waved the Mechanic and his lackey away as he helped Bask to her feet. "Welcome to the family, beloved." He greeted, but her expression didn’t change. Right on cue Miss Giddy entered, and she very nearly stopped when she spied Toast in the corner. She shook her head before clucking words of comfort to Bask, who barely said anything back as she was draped with white cloth.

“Both of you need to bathe.” She said, only smiling when Bask looked at her. Toast just stumbled after the two of them, feeling Joe’s animal eyes boring into her back. What was he thinking? She wanted to wonder but she could still see Greye's cracked skull whenever she closed her eyes. They were taken to the bathing chamber and Miss Giddy ran the water, and Bask looked at Toast with hesitation. 

“You can step in.” Toast said, and she dipped her feet in first. The water felt like nothing. “If there’s one thing they know how to do here, it’s waste water.” 

“Watch your tongue.” Miss Giddy said sharply.

“Watch yours, or I’ll cut it out.” Bask snapped in Toast's defense.

Miss Giddy wasn’t fazed, and she prodded Bask into the water. “Toast, I don’t think you realize what you’ve done.” She took Bask’s dripping garments off and picked up the soap from its dish at the side of the basin. Soon she was scrubbing hard at Bask’s skin with a cloth as she had done to Toast and many others before. “Now, hand me the razor, please.”

All at once fury crackled across Toast’s nerves, but it didn’t last, replaced by the vastest emptiness Toast had ever felt. It was like her ribcage had collapsed, and her spine was chilled to the marrow, and her teeth all at once felt too heavy for her skull. The guilt, it was smothering the numbness, gnawing at the small piece of her resolve that she had left. “You don’t think I realize, Miss Giddy? You don’t think I realize?” Her head turned towards the old woman, the one she had wanted to be patient with but now only represented the Joe’s ever watching eye. “My family is dead. My mother, my brothers, my sisters, killed by your Immortan.” Her hands became fists for a moment, but ultimately hung limp at her sides, and she stepped out of the pool. Bask’s eyes were on her, glassy but just as hard as Toast’s face. “Old people, children, shot down, run over.” Toast was leaving wet footprints as she went to the shelves, and Miss Giddy’s impatience crumbled to concern and she tried to speak, but Toast gave her no opportunity as she searched for the tool she needed. “We were _so fucking close_.” She couldn’t stop, her granite teeth wanted to clench but the words were too busy pouring out. “I had my family back, and we were so close. Whoever is left is a slave. The four of us, slaves now. Out of fifteen. And you don’t think I’ve realized what I’ve done.” She could see them now, Sou, Alo, Greye, Chell gazing up at her, bloody and weak and hoping, all for nothing. All for a bullet to the spine, for their last thoughts to be of pain and betrayal. Toast felt her heart race and yet it still felt like a lump of clay inside her, beating and beating uselessly but for what purpose? She had one and one only, to protect, to lead, to live, but now there was no reason to. She had failed, utterly failed, and dragged the rest down further into this abyss, into this monument of horror and agony. She found what she was looking for, and the metal gleamed in the artificial light. 

“Toast.” Bask leaned forward and grabbed her ankle, and the water Miss Giddy had been too wary to pay attention to spilled out of the basin as she moved. “Give me the razor, little sister.” Toast barely heard her warning tone, her dull eyes didn’t meet Bask's, and the she held the razor against her own throat, making Bask cry out in desperation, but none of her words reached Toast's ears.

“I killed them. I killed my family. Even after all I had done to them, I still hurt them. Chell. My brother Chell. He forgave me, he had the mercy to forgive me after how I’d hurt him, and for what? To die in the wasteland?” 

“I’m sorry Toast, I didn’t know.” Miss Giddy said carefully, her tattooed palms open as she tried to soothe her, but her words meant nothing to the hysteria.

“No, you didn’t. And now I’ve damned Swimm and Lem. Lem, my god, he’s just a boy. They’ll eat him alive.” Finally she felt tears roll off her cheeks, and her voice hitched for the first time she could remember. “My brother, my baby. And he’s so gentle, he’s going to die. My baby is going to die.” She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the metal into her flesh. 

There was a scream, and then she was falling for only an instant before she hit the water. It was warm and clean, filling her lungs, spilling and flowing out the sides of the basin, even churning. This was swimming, or something like it. No wonder Swimm, wonderful and soft and calm, was named after this. His hands were like water when they laced with hers, his rain eased the aching burn of her desert. Together they made the land flourish, but now there were no more fields, no more flowers to tend to. She wanted this tide to take her away, a whirlpool she could almost hear his voice in, and the last thing to color her vision would be the blue hues he spoke into oceans.

Bask pulled her to the surface. 

The world came back into focus as Toast blinked, and hacking coughs wracked her body as it forced the water out. Her throat, her chest, they burned, and when her hands grazed her throat the cut there was struggling to yield a single drop of blood. Bask’s lips were against her forehead and then her temples, one after the other.

“Don’t do that again. You hear me? My god. Listen, you can’t. I know you want to but we’re all we have. It isn’t over, remember that. It isn’t over.” Toast gave a short nod in reply as she shivered. Greye taught her that hope and compassion were poison in the wasteland, but Sou taught her that nothing was more destructive than despair. How could she forget her mother's kind words? Her teachings that kept Toast alive this long? But still the ache in her ribs only dulled, rather than evaporated. When she opened her eyes Bask was caressing her cheek and Miss Giddy was weeping.

“Toast, I’m sorry. I just...it's Ormala…”

“What?” she asked her attendant hoarsely, and her feet meet the bottom of the basin. “What happened?”

“She might lose the child.”

 

-

 

They were dragging their feet as Miss Giddy led them to the vault, shivering in their thin white dresses. Bask felt the ends of her newly limp hair with contempt. It reached even longer than Toast's, falling down to the middle of her back.

“Is it because of me?” Toast's blood ran cold at the very thought. She only meant to make Ormala nauseous, not anything serious. 

“It didn’t help but...it was the stress. She was already worried, she only told me. It hadn’t been moving as much. I’m so afraid for her, and then when you ran away and we were locked in the water closet she told me it hadn’t moved at all for those past two days, the days you've been here devising an escape. I didn’t mean to snap, I can't blame you, you had no idea and I should've known better than to forget that the Immortan doesn't take prisoners. I know...I know.” Miss Giddy looked at a passage of writing on her thin arm and Toast understood. A row of names wrapping around her forearm.

“Are they your children?” Bask asked softly. 

Miss Giddy nodded. “I was a milk mother in the beginning, Raq and Olivian were my first two, I had them at the end of the before times. I brought them with me when I was chosen to come into the Citadel. I knew I’d be chosen, so I packed a bag. All I had were books and my children. They took my books for Joe’s library but Raq and Olivian...they were three and one, and as soon as Olivian was done breastfeeding they took them away. I don’t know where they are now, warboys, most likely. But even on those awful machines I started to dry up, so as part of their duty, the Imperators...impregnated me again, we’ll say. That became Breck and Besa, twins. Breck was taken away too, but Besa? I don’t know. There are no women here besides the wives and I. And so on and so forth, Nori, Montan, Perella, until I stopped naming them. I wish I could go back and name the others, but I feel like if I do it now it won’t be genuine, so there’s a seven in their place. We milk mothers are fattened and barely allowed to move, so we keep giving milk, you see? That’s how we’re more successful when it comes to childbirth than the wives. Joe wants a particular look in his treasures, one that pregnancy drains the life from. It made me as frail as I am now, and I was no bitty thing. But since I couldn’t move, and I was so successful with milking and supplying the Immortan with stock for his armies, I was rewarded with books. I read and read and read, and finally when my milking days were ending I was able to appeal to him as a historian. I recorded both his achievements and what I could collect of the old times, and tattooed it on myself so I’m invaluable, so he can’t toss me back to the Wretched to die. But this band is for me, my history, my children I could never see grow.” 

Toast expected to see Miss Giddy cry again, but instead she looked as weary as the battered earth, with words for roads and rivers and mountain ridges. “Have you told the others?”

“Yes. The Dag wept like a child.” Miss Giddy gave a small smile at that. “She’s very empathetic. She said I’m her daughter now.” They reached the vault and Miss Giddy knocked that pattern into the metal, and the door swung open. To Toast’s relief Joe wasn’t there, but Ormala, but the way her lip curled in disgust when she saw them wasn’t particularly inviting.

“You.” She spat. “And another rat.” Bask’s eyes narrowed and Ormala flinched and turned tail, her hands already balled into fists. Toast took a deep breath before taking her step in the vault. Trapped again, but like Bask said, it wasn’t over.


End file.
